


Time after Time

by CaliforniaKat



Series: The Time Stories [1]
Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 09:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 72,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliforniaKat/pseuds/CaliforniaKat
Summary: What if—at the end of the novel series—Sookie was given another chance at the beginning?  What if she had full knowledge of the events to come?  Could she save the people she loved?  Would she look to anyone in the Supernatural world for help—or would she attempt to avoid that world?  Yep—I’m trying my hand at the time travel genre; it’s been done before, but I’ve not seen the device used from the end of Dead Ever After (Note: I’m ignoring After Dead, which I truly thought was a waste of time.)  (E/S eventually)





	1. Almost Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No profit has been made from this work. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. The events in this story have been inspired by True Blood and the Southern Vampire Mysteries book series. 
> 
> Many Thanks:   
> To Kleannhouse—for your generosity and your “eagle eyes”

Chapter 01: Almost Left Behind

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 2007

I'd finally gotten together with Sam—after so many years of light flirting.

After what had seemed like a million "meaningful" glances between us—most of them originating from him for the last several years.

But what of that?

My amorous looks in the direction of others often signaled death, torture, or destruction.

So I'd stopped offering those looks to anyone.

And—after Eric left—I started "accepting" them and other things from Sam.

I had to admit that sex with Sam was nice. Other than Quinn—and let's face it, my encounters with the weretiger hadn't been as earth-shattering as he'd thought they'd been—I'd not been with a warm-blooded man.

Yes—having sex with Sam was nice.

Calm and tender. Hell—he wouldn't even touch me during the full moon or the days right before or after it. He said that I was "too precious to risk hurting."

Risk.

Hurt.

I was more than happy to avoid these things.

Plus, Sam was precious to me—though my feelings for him had remained similar to how they'd always been. I loved him as a friend—and I had always been attracted to him. Of course, now I'd taken the step to make him my permanent companion.

Friends with benefits. Permanent ones.

I was just glad not to have to be alone.

Though a big part of me thought that I deserved to be just that.

I acknowledged my selfishness with a judgmental look in the rearview mirror as I parked my car at the mall. However, in my defense, I'd told Sam all about the nature of my feelings for him.

The stark truth of those feelings.

I did love him, but I wasn't "in love" with him. My heart—battered and bruised by years of yanking and pulling—just didn't have the energy to actively love anymore. I liked Sam. I was comfortable with him. He felt safe to me.

And I respected him way too much to mislead him about my feelings.

They were strong, but I knew they weren't what he wanted, and I'd confessed all of these things to him.

In turn, Sam had relayed to me that he loved me as much more than a friend and that he'd done so for a really long time. Of course, he was disappointed that I couldn't reciprocate. But we agreed that good relationships—good marriages even—were built on much flimsier foundations than friendship.

And Sam and I were enduring friends. I had no doubt that we'd remain as such, as we took our next step together.

I stared at the single diamond on my left ring finger for a moment. My finger still hadn't gotten used to it, but I knew that was just a matter of time.

I brushed away a tear as I walked into the Rustin department store that Claudine had once worked in. I found myself remembering my "good" fairy cousin often—truly hoping that she'd managed to become a guardian angel and wondering what had happened to the unborn baby she'd been carrying.

Maybe he or she had been born in the Summerland and would forever live in that Fae afterlife. If so, I hoped that place was like the Heaven I pictured in my mind, the one where I was sure Gran was quilting or gossiping or just enjoying being reunited with her children—unless they, too, were in the Summerland since they were part fairy. I wasn't quite sure how that worked, but I prayed that Gran didn't have to be separated from them.

Of course, she'd have Grandpa Mitchell—at the very least.

He—not Fintan—had been the husband she'd loved each day I'd known her, but he had not fathered her children.

"Fucking mumps," I muttered to myself of the childhood disease that had rendered Grandpa Mitchell infertile.

The mall was crowded, as one might expect three days before Christmas. I'd hoped that the early hour at which I'd arrived would save me from the masses of minds, but it hadn't. Apparently, the mall had opened at 7:00 a.m., so the shoppers had been teeming for quite a while by the time I arrived at 9:00 a.m.

I tried to strengthen my shields, but they'd been slipping more and more lately. For all the problems that some vampires had created in my life, one gift that I'd failed to appreciate fully until it had worn out was vampire blood.

And its effects on my shields.

I had thought that it had been practice which had helped me to strengthen my mental defenses. If anything, I thought that it was the vampire blood that had helped.

I'd been so wrong. Vampire blood had been the main booster to my shields.

The practice? As it turned out—it had been the "helper" to the blood.

Constructing my shields was like playing football with pads and a helmet on. When someone's thoughts "tackled me," the protective gear certainly helped. But repeated tackling tired me out—no matter how thick the pads.

On the other hand, vampire blood had the power to quite literally lift me off of the field—almost as if I were hovering above it. There, I was more-less safe from the thoughts thrumming on the field of "play."

However, it had been more than a year and a half since I'd last had vampire blood. I remembered the moment well. Once Eric and I had gotten "together" after he regained his memories, the vampire wasn't shy about how pleased he was when I took his blood—especially when we had sex.

Our last "sharing" had been on May 4, 2006—less than a month before I severed our blood bond. And, of course, not long after that, I'd learned that Eric had been "contracted" to Freyda.

I sighed. Even though Eric had been completely gone from my life for more than a year, the loss of him still hurt—acutely.

And I didn't even need the ol' Word-of-the-Day calendar to know that word. I'd been studying for the SAT test because I planned to apply for college and get my business degree. I already did a lot of the paperwork at Merlotte's, but I felt I could do more—that I could be more. And the SAT vocabulary lists put my old calendars to shame.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" a pretty brunette saleswoman asked me as I thumbed through some ties, which Sam would never have cause to wear. Weeks ago, I'd bought gifts for everyone on my Christmas list—even Pam, though I didn't expect to see her for the holiday. I had already sent her gift to Fangtasia as I'd done last year. In fact, I'd not seen her since right after Eric went to Oklahoma, though—oddly enough—we exchanged an occasional card or letter.

We didn't mention Eric. There was no need to. I knew where he was. And I'd seen the pictures from his "wedding" in the news clippings Bill had "anonymously" sent to me.

I frowned.

The problem with Bill's attempt at anonymity was that Sam—who'd stayed over and been on a "run" as Dean the dog—just happened to see Bill putting the manila folder with the clippings into my mailbox.

So much for secrecy.

At least—when confronted—Bill didn't deny it. He confessed that he wanted to make sure I understood that I was better off without the Viking—that Eric could never have been faithful to me because he was "too vampire." Of course, Bill presented himself as the contrary—a concerned "humanish" friend who just wanted the best for me.

But—as I'd looked at the posed photos of Eric smiling next to Freyda, I'd stumbled upon more than one truth.

Eric's smile was fake. Though he looked amazing, the wrinkles next to his eyes were missing.

Likewise, Bill's "concern" for me was fake—just as fake as his so-called humanity. Even as he told me that he still loved me and was hoping for another chance—when I was ready, of course—he'd been studying my reaction to the photos of Eric.

He'd wanted me to hate Eric.

He'd wanted me to lose a little more of my heart—so that I'd be all the more vulnerable.

To him.

That had been the last night that I saw Bill Compton.

I am unashamed to say that I played the "guardian card," one that hadn't helped me in any other practical way before. But—that time—Mr. Cataliades came through. By the end of the week, Bill had moved to New Orleans, where he now had a big office building—at least according to Hoyt Fortenberry, who'd taken Holly on a mini-vacation to the Big Easy. Apparently, they'd run into Bill at a fancy restaurant in the city.

Hoyt had reported that Bill "looked like always" and was in charge of a big company that did "stuff with computers and such."

I figured that de Castro had expanded the database project and had hired a team for Bill to oversee. Honestly, despite everything, I hoped that Bill would find some happiness in his "un-death"—even if it was just in his work.

I remembered back to the time when he'd first been developing his database—after Dallas, before Lorena called him. He'd been happy as a clam, buried in his work and virtually ignoring me. I couldn't help but to hope that history was repeating itself.

Yes. Bill had hurt me. And he'd kept right on hurting me in the name of love—or, at least, his twisted version of it. But, nowadays, when I thought of Bill at all, I felt pity for him, mostly because I wasn't sure if he was capable of being truly happy.

Of course, I sometimes wondered the same thing about myself.

I won't lie and say that looking at the beautiful pictures of Eric and Freyda in the society pages wasn't difficult—despite the fakeness of Eric's smile. Seeing them on a special edition of Anderson Cooper 360 a few months later had been even more difficult.

Ironically, Freyda and Eric appeared on the show exactly one year to the day after I'd broken my and Eric's blood bond.

Or maybe it wasn't irony. Perhaps it was simply comeuppance for all of the mistakes I'd made with him.

For all the things I should have told him, but didn't.

For all the actions I should have taken for him—and for us—but didn't.

I supposed hindsight was the cruelest of teachers. After the craziness with Claude and Copley Carmichael, I had jumped into bed with Sam—hoping that he could help me forget about the mental and physical wounds I'd suffered since I'd met Bill. And—in some ways—my "strategy" had worked. But—whenever I was alone during those first few months without Eric in my life—I'd found myself looking in the mirror a lot.

And in the mirror, I scrutinized every moment I could remember of my life.

After all was said and done, I found that I regretted ever being with Bill. His lies and manipulations aside, we were ill-matched in personality. It might have been the influence of Bill's blood that made me think that I was in love with him, but I'd learned that Eric had been telling me the truth when he'd claimed—off-handedly once—that vampire blood didn't make anyone do anything he or she truly didn't want to do.

I'd confirmed that fact with Octavia, but—why I hadn't asked her at a time when that information could have been helpful—remained a mystery to me.

Maybe I'd been afraid of the truth at the time.

My only rational explanation for not asking was that I'd somehow decided that the only way I could navigate through the Supernatural world and not hate everyone in it was to keep blinders over my eyes—like the horses that pulled the carriages around Central Park or the ones ridden by mounted policemen in big cities. I'd seen enough movies to know that the horses' blinders were meant to keep them for being spooked by traffic.

Of course, because of my time "in the mirror" I'd realized that the blinders I'd worn hadn't really kept me from being "spooked" because I still imagined the "traffic"—sometimes envisioning it as worse than it really was. But, unlike a horse, I had the capability of judging my environment—real and exaggerated.

I'd judged Eric particularly harshly.

"Miss, are you okay?" the saleswoman asked.

Oops. I'd forgotten she was there.

No doubt—those blinders again. But more and more, I was using them to blind me to my "normal" life.

Now that was ironic!

"Oh—I'm so sorry!" I told the saleswoman. "I—uh—was just lost in my thoughts."

She offered me a kind smile that wasn't even a little impatient. Honestly, I wondered if she could be part Supe—since I couldn't imagine anyone without supernatural powers working in retail with a real smile on her face during this time of year.

But Margie's mind told me that she was all human.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked, her smile not fading.

"I—uh—my boyfriend asked me to marry him last week, and I said yes," I shared.

"Well congratulations!" she said sincerely. "Are you looking for an engagement gift for him?"

"Uh—no! Um—should I get one of those?" I asked with a frown. "Um—actually—I was just thinkin' that the scarf I was plannin' on givin' him for Christmas—before we were engaged, that is—is a little—uh . . . ."

"Impersonal?" she helped.

"Exactly," I sighed. "Um—do you think I need an engagement gift too?" I asked, my voice laden with anxiety.

Margie patted my hand. "No. That's an old tradition really. And—since it's almost Christmas—your gift for him can serve as both," she comforted.

I smiled in the wake of her kindness. Margie's own smile was accompanied by shallow crow's-feet, which made it look just that much more real. The other wrinkles on her face told me that she was likely around 50, though it was hard to tell since her hair was dyed to keep the gray out.

"So—what is your fiancé like? What does he enjoy?" she asked.

"Um—we own a bar and grill together," I supplied.

She frowned. "Well—that's great. Uh—what about his pastimes?" she tried.

I bit my tongue to keep myself from telling her that he liked to go for runs—as a dog. A new pair of Nikes wouldn't exactly be appropriate for him.

And a chew toy? Apparently demeaning.

Of course, the two-natured had "come out," and I wasn't ashamed of Sam's otherness in the least. But I also didn't want to invite any potential prejudice to muddy the already murky shopping waters.

"He—uh—well—uh . . . ." I found myself searching my brain for what Sam liked. And, of course, that made me a little more depressed. Why didn't I know my friend better? Why didn't I know my new fiancé on a more "personal" level? What the fuck was wrong with me?!

"We like to watch movies together," I finally said. "But he just moved into my house, and he has a huge television and all the fixings already," I shared.

"What about furniture. Does he need a new dresser or something like that to feel more at home?" she tried.

"No—uh—between all of our things, the house is bursting as it is."

"Does he wear jewelry?" Margie asked.

At the mention of jewelry, I immediately thought of Eric—and the pendant he always wore on a leather band. Somehow the thought of buying Sam a necklace of any kind seemed wrong. And—of course—a ring should wait for the wedding. Right?

"Um—I've seen him wear a bracelet before. Something leather," I recalled.

She nodded. "So—your fella sounds like he's low-key, casual, and masculine." She grinned. "I'm bettin' that he's a fan of flannel."

I chuckled. "Yep. But he has a closetful of flannel shirts already. And I can barely fit all his jeans into his dresser—since he wasn't much of a laundry-doer when he was on his own."

Margie giggled. "Let me guess. He has lots more clothes than he needs 'cause he only went to the laundromat once a month when he was a bachelor."

"If that," I grinned.

"Okay—so I have some ideas. What's your price range?" she asked.

"I don't really have one," I shared. "But Sam's not the kind who would like something just 'cause it's gotta hefty price attached."

"Of course not," Margie said.

I dipped into her mind and found that she wasn't trying to get me to spend more than I could afford. She simply didn't want to show me things out of my price range just to leave me disappointed if I couldn't afford them.

I thanked her for her thoughtfulness and then asked to see anything she had in mind. She suggested four items: a nice cologne that smelled of the crisp outdoors, a thick gold bracelet that was quite masculine, a beautiful leather belt, and an equally lovely leather wallet.

In the end, I opted for the cologne for Christmas and the bracelet as an engagement gift—which I figured would be a nice gesture to get. Since I was now wearing Sam's engagement ring, it only seemed fair that he would have some jewelry too. I filed away the belt and wallet ideas for his birthday.

Margie, as it turned out, was as "full-service" as salespeople went (of course, though busy, the store was literally crawling with employees who were all working for commissions or bonuses). Margie offered to giftwrap my items for me, even as she asked me if I wanted to have Sam's bracelet engraved.

I frowned. "Do people usually do that?"

"About half and half. But if your engagement ring is engraved, it might be a nice complement," she suggested.

I tilted my head and looked at the diamond solitaire on my finger. I truly didn't know if the ring was engraved, for I'd left it on my finger since Sam had put it there. In truth, I was concerned that Sam, who was already a little insecure about us—given the inequity of our feelings—might view it as a slight if I removed the ring to shower or to do dishes or to bus tables. And—thankfully—the ring was snug enough that I didn't have to worry about it falling off, even when my hands were wet.

"You know—I don't know if it's engraved or not," I stated with a little shame.

Margie smiled without judgment. "Kept it on your finger—have you?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"And your fella doesn't seem like the kind to brag about such things," she added. "Why don't you take a look now?"

I bit my lower lip and tried to pull the ring from my finger, but—though it didn't press too hard against my finger itself, my knuckle (swollen a bit because I was on my period) was another story.

Out of nowhere, Margie produced lotion.

I thanked her and was able to get the ring off using the lubrication.

Holding my breath, I looked at the inner side of the band. "Forever Yours," I read in a whisper.

"Forever Yours. Oh that's lovely!" Margie smiled, handing me a Kleenex when a tear slipped from my eye.

The sad thing was that it wasn't Sam's wonderful sentiment that had made me feel like crying.

It was the idea of "forever." It was the knowledge of what "yours" could really mean. And it was the memory of the vampire who'd once wanted to "keep me" forever—the one who had tried to claim me again and again.

Eric.


	2. If You Fall

Chapter 02: If You Fall

I'd resisted Eric—telling him again and again that I didn't belong to anyone. That I couldn't be owned. But I hadn't acknowledged that a heart wanted to be owned—that it was meant to be owned.

I'd not understood that—when Eric had asked me to be "his"—he'd been asking for my heart.

Not my freedom.

Once I'd scrutinized the scarred—the scared—woman in the mirror, I'd realized that he wouldn't have taken my freedom from me for all the world. In fact, he'd done all that he could to ensure that I kept it. The bonding. The pledging.

I'd misinterpreted them as him "taking" from me.

But what did he really take? What did he actually demand of me?

Nothing.

He didn't demand my blood. He didn't demand my telepathic skills. He didn't demand that I move in with him. He didn't even demand for me to tell him that I was "his"—at least, not publically.

Instead, Eric had left me with choice regarding all of these things. He wanted me to choose to give him my heart—my love. I suppose that Eric—better than anyone—understood that, if it was not freely given, then a heart was worthless.

For a variety of reasons—some valid and some not—I had assumed that Eric couldn't, or wouldn't, give me his heart.

Just as I'd assumed that he would tire of me.

Just as I'd assumed that he would never love me as much as he coveted what I could do for him.

And—when I'd learned about Freyda—I'd reacted exactly as I'd set myself up to react because I never questioned whether Eric preferred becoming Freyda's consort over staying with me.

I had simply assumed that he would prefer the power that would come from being the Queen of Oklahoma's consort.

Just as I'd assumed that he was incapable of putting me first.

But when had I done the same for him?

When I initially learned about Freyda, I'd concentrated on the wrong thing: my anger that Eric had hidden the situation from me. I'd not appreciated the fact that he'd been trying to get out of the contract so that it would never affect me—or us. Yes—I would have preferred for him to have been upfront with me. However—around that same time—I could not deny that I was hiding certain things from him, such as the fact that Sandra Pelt had become a real threat.

And the fact that I intended to break our blood bond if the opportunity presented itself.

Clearly we both sucked at communication skills.

We also sucked at giving each other the benefit of the doubt.

I sighed. If I had given Eric that benefit, things could have been very different. If I'd merely opened my eyes to see that Eric didn't want to go to Oklahoma—that he wanted to stay with me—I would have immediately thought to use the cluviel dor on him.

Would that mean that Sam would have died? Or would have my actions on Eric's behalf changed everything from that moment on?

I would never know.

Yes—hindsight was a cruel teacher. Not only did he see things perfectly, but he also laced so many of his lessons with regret. And his favorite phrase seemed to be, "What if," as if those words could make any difference!

I knew they could not.

"So—would you like an inscription?" Margie asked, breaking me from my reverie once again. Thankfully, this time she attributed my zoning out to my trying to think of words for Sam's bracelet.

"It's hard to think—uh—of the right words," I stammered, being completely honest.

"A symbol then?" she asked.

"Can I get a moon done?" I asked. "Like a crescent—so that it doesn't just look like a circle?"

"Oh course. If you have time to wait for a bit, our engraver is in today. I doubt it'll take more than an hour to get it done," she added with the same smile she'd had in place throughout our interaction.

I succeeded in smiling back at her, but I could tell that it was more of a "Crazy Sookie" smile as opposed to something real. Still, I wanted to try for Margie; she'd been so kind and patient with me.

I'd already paid for my items, so I took the gift-wrapped cologne, which Margie had put into one of those fancy shopping bags with handles. She asked for my cellphone number so that she could call me as soon as the bracelet was engraved and wrapped. Her thoughts told me that she wanted to make sure that I could "maximize my time shopping," rather than standing around waiting for the bracelet.

I smiled at her—this time the smile feeling warmer on my lips. She truly was kind.

However, having no other shopping to do, I didn't need to "maximize my time." Instead, I wandered somewhat listlessly through the mall for a while, stopping only to get an overpriced coffee from Starbucks just to have something to do. And, of course, I did everything in my power to keep my shields up and locked.

But, without any vampire blood in my system, they slipped again and again. And the mall seemed to be getting more and more crowded.

I found myself marveling at how frustrated a parent's thoughts could become! Of course, the parents I "heard" weren't wishing their children hadn't been born—as my mother had often wished.

They were frustrated by little things: like how Timmy was crying because his vanilla shake was gone or how Robin was angry that she'd not gotten a doll she wanted. And—yes—Robin was sulking and literally dragging her feet through the mall. But she was also tired—wondering why she couldn't have stayed home with her father like she always did on the days he had off from work. Little Robin had wanted to watch cartoons curled up next to "Daddy." Her mother's mind told me that she'd wanted Robin to come to the mall in order to gauge what toys enticed her so that her husband could return later to get them for the girl "from Santa." The whole situation seemed ridiculous to me! Needlessly exhausting and traumatic for the mother and child.

By the time I reached the half-hour mark of my wait, I'd walked a full circuit around the mall and had a headache. Eventually, I ended up in the furniture department at JC Penny, which was literally the "quietest" place I could find in the mall. I wandered back toward the mattresses, pretending to browse. However, hearing the thoughts of another customer who wanted to "have" me on one of those mattresses made me wander in a different direction; I ended up in the baby furniture section.

Luckily, the only other customers in that vicinity were a couple who were thinking only happy thoughts as they looked for cribs for the child they were expecting in the spring.

I sighed and put my hand over my belly. Sam wanted to have children. In fact, my ambivalence on the matter had been why I'd told Sam "no" the first two times he'd asked me to be his wife. The unequal nature of our love was one thing; Sam accepted that I saw myself as marrying a good friend—a trusted companion. Of course, he hoped that I could—one day—grow to love him on a more "romantic" level; a part of me hoped for that too, as a matter of fact.

Meanwhile, I truly did intend to do whatever I could to be a good wife to him. I enjoyed the sex we had, and—unless I was mistaken and my telepathy was wrong—he did too. Additionally, I understood about his dual nature. We ran a successful business together. We laughed at similar places in movies. We could talk about any variety of things. Yes—my relationship with Sam was more comfortable than passionate, but in a lot of ways, we were already similar to an older married couple. And I didn't necessarily view that as a bad thing.

Sam promised me faithfulness and love and comfort. For me, those three things were easy to promise back.

However, I hadn't agreed to be his wife until I'd reconciled myself to becoming a mother, too. I hadn't wanted to saddle Sam with me—even though he'd told me that he was okay if we didn't have children. Indeed, months before, he'd accepted the possibility of not becoming a father; moreover, he'd told himself that having me was worth the tradeoff. But I'd already felt like I was cheating him out of too much in our relationship.

"Are you expecting too?" the young woman shopping with her husband asked me when she noticed that my hands were perched over my belly.

"Um—no. But my fiancé and I are plannin' to start tryin' right after we tie the knot," I answered truthfully, smiling sincerely as I recalled the look on Sam's face when I told him that I would marry him and be the mother of his children—if God blessed us with some.

After they congratulated me on my upcoming nuptials and I congratulated them on their baby, the young couple continued their search, and I continued my browsing after checking my phone to see if Margie had called. She hadn't, but—then again—it had been only fifty minutes since I'd seen her.

I smoothed my fingers along the sides of a pretty oak crib and found myself smiling softly. Indeed, I had reconciled myself to becoming a mother. More than that.

I knew I would be a good parent—at least, I would try my hardest to be. I also knew that—as soon as the child became "real"—I would love him or her unconditionally.

But—in the meantime—I still had my worries. What if the child was a telepath? What if danger found me again? Felipe de Castro hadn't bothered me too much since Eric had left. I had guessed that Eric had made a deal with de Castro regarding my safety—a deal which had included Karin guarding me for the first year the Viking was gone.

But I didn't know the details.

Mr. Cataliades had claimed attorney-client privilege. Sam had claimed ignorance about any deals Eric had made, and I'd telepathically verified that. Before he'd left, Bill had claimed ignorance, though I didn't really believe him. Pam claimed that a maker's command prevented her from speaking to me about Eric. Karin barely spoke to me at all when she was my watchdog. And Felipe certainly didn't tell me anything.

Felipe hadn't been completely absent from my life, however. I had worked for him twice since Eric had left, but I'd never had to leave Louisiana or Area 5 to do it. On both occasions, Sam and I—with back-up from the local pack with which I still had "friend of the pack" status—met Felipe's people at a warehouse in Shreveport. There, I "read" humans and the two-natured for Felipe. The king had even agreed to my stipulations about the punishment of human criminals. Only drainers or Weres guilty of endangering vampires could receive the "death penalty" from Felipe's people.

The king hadn't offered to pay me for my "favor," and—ironically—I found that arrangement better for my peace of mind. Thanks to Claudine, I now had plenty of money, and I didn't like the idea of counting on Felipe to help me make ends meet. So far, the King of Nevada, Louisiana, and Arkansas seemed content to leave me mostly in peace.

But would the same thing hold true if I had a telepathic child? Hunter was easy enough to keep a secret from the vampires. After all, though he visited me on occasion, and called me "Aunt Sookie" when we were at the house, I'd coached him to call me just Sookie in public. Most people thought that he was the child of a friend and that I babysat him on occasion, but had no special connection to him.

Hadley had been all but forgotten now, and—since her last name and mine were different—even someone seeing Hunter's birth certificate wouldn't immediately associate him with the name "Stackhouse." Plus, Red Ditch was even less likely to have vampire visitors than Bon Temps was—even now that Bill was gone.

I said a silent prayer that no children I had would be telepathic—for their own sakes. But—at the same time—I vowed to keep them safe if they were. I would help them master their shields at a young age. I would teach them how to hide what they were from the outside world, even as I tried not to let them feel shame about their gift. It would be a difficult line to balance upon, but I would do my best. And I knew that—even if I failed—Sam would be there to help me: To make sure that our children understood how to love themselves—even if their mother never quite had.

"This one is my favorite, too," a familiar voice said from behind me.

I blinked several times, but didn't turn around.

"Niall," I breathed.

"Yes."

"I thought the portals were closed."

"I have come to you to warn you about a new threat," my great-grandfather sighed warily.

I turned to him face him slowly.

He looked older than I'd ever seen him and extremely weary.

"It is good that you are not yet with child," he commented, looking down at my belly. "It would make the present situation even more difficult."

"Present situation?" I whispered—Neave and Lochlan's faces flashing across my thoughts.

"I've spent much time trying to snuff out all of Breandan's comrades. But I've recently discovered that he had a fairy mate I knew nothing about—and children that I knew nothing about either. Denolt and Serbol are their names. And they and their allies recently overpowered the guards I had at one of the last remaining working portals to this world."

"I thought you—uh—destroyed them," I stammered.

"I did—mostly. But to destroy them all would have banished my people to Faerie forever. I thought my magic was strong enough to prevent them from being used."

"But you were wrong," I commented, quivering because of the haunted look in his eyes.

He nodded. "Yes. I was. They knew where to find you, Sookie," he added gravely.

"Sam," I whispered—whimpered.

Niall looked down at the white institutional floor tiles that spread out throughout the store. "Dead. I went to your home first before I tracked you here. Your fiancé was killed as he tried to keep them out of your home—if that is any consolation. He died fighting."

I shook. Knowing that Sam had died violently—for a woman who couldn't love him as he deserved to be loved—was the opposite of a consolation!

I felt my knees buckle, and Niall led me to a rocking chair that I would now never need to lull a child to sleep.

"I am death," I said, suddenly feeling haunted by everyone who'd suffered or died because of me.

Niall shook his head. "This isn't your fault. None of the people who died today are your responsibility."

"It is my fault," I whispered. "I was so afraid of bein' alone. So Sam died for someone who didn't love him enough," I wept, noticing for the first time that Niall had seemingly enclosed us in some kind of magic barrier. "Wait!" I yelled, looking into my great-grandfather's eyes. "You said people! People!"

He nodded somberly.

"Oh God!" I sat up straighter and then tried to stand, but Niall held me in the seat. "Jason! Hunter!"

Niall closed his eyes and—for the first time that I'd seen—tears fell down his cheeks, like rivers flowing over sand dunes. "I sent others to check on them," he said. "Your brother is gone. His wife and child are also dead; all three were killed in their sleep. Hunter and his father . . . ." Niall's voice broke. "I received word that they met a similar fate as well. You are alive only because you were not at home," he added with a grief-filled sigh.

"A similar fate?" I asked—not knowing why. Perhaps, I was a glutton for punishment at this point. Perhaps, I was counting on the fact that just a tiny bit more pain would certainly break my heart completely and kill me.

"Hunter and his father were not killed in their sleep," Niall informed. "But that is all I will say on that matter," he added sharply. "I have people hunting for Denolt and Serbol as we speak, but they and their people will be hunting you too," he said. "We must leave this place. Our blood and affection for one another links us, but they will soon figure out a way to track you too."

"You should let them find me," I said, dropping the bag with the cologne in it and wondering what Margie would think when I never came back for the bracelet. My phone rang, but I didn't have the power to answer it. I swiped a hand along my cheek. It was wet.

Funny. I hadn't even known I was still crying.

Sam: my dear friend and partner—so kind that he was willing to settle for the limited life I was able to give. Had he shifted into a lion trying to protect our home?

Guilt cut at me.

Jason and his family: my werepanther brother who had grown up so much during the past year. He'd loved Michele with his whole heart. He'd relished being a father.

And his beautiful tiny daughter, Marie—with eyes so bright blue that they looked like the pictures I'd seen of the Caribbean.

They'd never open again.

Guilt gnawed at me.

Hunter and Remy: my cousin and his loving father, whom I had just been picturing as safe and sound—who would have been safe and sound if not for me. How had they died? I prayed that their executioners had been nothing like Lochlan and Neave. The thought of such monsters touching little, sweet Hunter made me retch.

Guilt ate me.

"I cannot protect you here, and I cannot take you to Faerie with me. You must understand, the options—they are limited," Niall said, guilt obvious in his eyes too.

"Huh?" I asked inelegantly, not quite able to understand what he was saying.

"I must hunt my enemies and then return to my people if I prevail. And," he paused, "no other fairies would be willing to guard you. After Claudine. After Claude. You are viewed as," he paused again, "bad luck."

I let out a pained chuckle. "Yes. I am bad luck," I fully agreed.

"Come," Niall said, standing up and holding out his hand for me.

I shook my head. "Come? Why did you come here? Why not just let them kill me when I returned home?"

"I don't want you to die," he said forcefully. "You are the last of my descendants."

"Dermot?" I asked. "You took him to Faery with you," I recalled.

"My son is dead—killed by the same enemies who wish to kill you," he said—sounding haunted. "I would take you with me, Sookie. I really would. I want to, but . . . ." His voice trailed off.

"But I can't return to Faerie with you?" I asked.

"No," he sighed. "After all that has happened, you would not be accepted there. Many of my own advisors have counseled me to kill you."

"You should," I said, my chin sticking out stubbornly. I couldn't think of a single reason to live as I felt all hope and life drain from me as if it were being sucked dry by an army of Victor Maddens.

"I've come to take you to Felipe de Castro," Niall said.

"Felipe? What? Why?" I gasped.

"You will bond with him—for your own protection," my great-grandfather said decisively. "I have already sent Desmond Cataliades to negotiate a contract with him on your behalf. You will live under Felipe's protection. I imagine that you will have to agree to use your telepathy for him without restrictions, but—in exchange—I hope that the demon can get him to agree that you won't have to lie with or give blood to any other vampires."

"Any other?" I asked, dread and grief now equal battlers for my emotions.

"Of course, you will have to give yourself to the king," Niall said as if talking to a child. "But it is the only solution I can think of—the only way you will live on."

I recoiled. "What? You want to enslave me? To a vampire king?"

"I think that the demon can negotiate a contract that you will be happy with," he said soothingly, though firmly. "And you will be surrounded by vampires, which is the only safe place I can imagine for you. If your Viking were available, I would have asked for his aid, but he is not," Niall said somewhat harshly, causing more tears to free-fall down my cheeks. "His child is not strong enough. Neither is Compton. No—King Felipe is the best option. He is your only option."

Suddenly, I felt completely numb, and when Niall pulled me to my feet again, I went with him.


	3. I Fall Behind

Chapter 03: I Fall Behind

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2007

Twenty-four hours after I'd stepped foot into the Rustin mall to find Sam a better Christmas gift, I arrived at the Las Vegas Airport via private jet. Niall had been "good enough" to hide me for nineteen of those hours and then escort me safely to a small airfield where I was handed off to Quinn of all people!

During my time with my great-grandfather, he had watched me like a hawk, especially after I excused myself to go to the bathroom and swallowed the whole bottle of Tylenol that was in my purse. Niall had found me, and he had called Ludwig. The fucking doctor had "popped" in and forced me to drink a fucking tonic of some kind!

Once upon a time, I'd liked her. Not anymore.

"I thought that doctors were supposed to do no fucking harm," I muttered incoherently.

"What?" Quinn asked as he took my arm to lead me from the plane. I recoiled from his touch. At Niall's bidding, Quinn had been on suicide watch too, and I'd had to endure him thinking about how he'd fulfilled a similar duty with his mother.

I grew physically ill when drawing the comparison made me more attractive to the weretiger's eyes! Talk about a fucking hero complex!

Of course, one couldn't really blame Quinn for being fucked up; he'd been a teenager when he'd first had to save his mother from killing herself. However, I didn't have it in me to feel compassion for him—though an "unbroken" person would have.

Simply put, I had no heart left to generate compassion.

And the pity in Quinn's eyes—mixed with longing (as if my fiancé hadn't just died!)—had been enough to send me to the toilet to dry heave several times. And—of course—I hadn't been allowed to shut the fucking door and retch in private! Maybe Quinn thought I would try to flush myself out into the air through the tiny opening of the toilet!

If only I could have.

I hugged my purse to me when Quinn tried to take it. I had brought nothing with me to Las Vegas except for my purse and the clothing I was wearing—though my purse had already been emptied of any potential weapons by my "helpful" great-grandfather.

But inside was a little album that Gran had bought me for my birthday several years before. I was grateful for the pictures in it, but I found myself wishing I'd taken the time to fill it up since so many of the people I loved could no longer pose for pictures.

"All gone," I whispered.

This time, Quinn was able to make out my words, but—thankfully—he didn't ask me to explain them.

Quinn put his big paw against the small of my back almost possessively.

I cringed, but closed my eyes and let the weretiger guide my steps. I didn't want to see whatever new hell was coming until I had to.

Instead, I thought about the day before. After leaving the JC Penny children's furniture section, Niall had taken me to a service staircase. There, he'd made me leave my phone behind before "popping" us to a "magic-cloaked" safe-house he kept in the area. When I asked why I couldn't simply stay there forever—instead of get bonded to the caped vampire king—Niall shared that the magic around the safe house wasn't "meant to last."

It seemed that nothing was—meant to last, that is.

Except maybe sorrow. And guilt.

Since it had been daytime when Niall's newest batch of enemies killed my remaining family members and my fiancé, Cataliades had to wait to negotiate with de Castro until it was after sunset in Nevada.

I suppose I should have been nervous about the negotiations, but I was just numb. And after my suicide attempt, Ludwig gave me something that put me to sleep for most of the night.

I chuckled darkly, finding it ironic that I'd been given more drugs after my near drug overdose.

"It's like rain on my wedding day," I sang softly and off-key.

"Sookie?" Quinn asked, pushing me along when I stopped for a moment.

I opened my eyes and smiled my crazy smile at him. "It's like good advice that I just wouldn't take. Isn't that ironic? Don't ya think?"

Even more pity in his eyes, Quinn shook his head and pulled me along.

Maybe he just didn't appreciate Alanis Morissette.

"Yeah—I really do think," I answered my own question morosely.

Before handing me off to Quinn and telling me goodbye—supposedly "forever" this time (why did I doubt that?)—Niall shared that the negotiations with de Castro had gone even better than hoped for.

Niall said that Mr. Cataliades would give me all the details, but that Felipe had agreed to forego sex with me for the first five years, but—after that—I'd be expected to have carnal relations with him at least bi-monthly.

However, despite the fact that Felipe was "waiving the right of my body for a time"—Niall's words, not mine—the king and I would begin exchanging blood that very night. Initially, we would exchange until a bond formed—which would likely take three exchanges over three nights, though sometimes more exchanges were needed. After that, I'd be required to exchange with de Castro once a year.

But I would be "feeding" him twice per month—unless I wanted to do it more often, which Niall suggested I consider since the king was being so generous to me.

I had looked at Niall as if he were an alien; maybe he was. After all, the very thought of a single exchange or feeding with Felipe made me cringe!

Niall hadn't seemed to notice my nausea. He'd continued by telling me that, in addition to giving up my blood and eventually my body, I would have to be the king's "date" to approximately fifteen "State affairs" per year. I would be "on call" as State telepath forty hours per week. I would be given the pool house on Felipe's main estate to live in, and I would be able to live alone. However, I would not be allowed to leave the estate grounds during the daytime until Niall confirmed that the current Fae threat was over. And—even then—I would always be escorted by guards.

My food would be provided by a gourmet chef, though I would have a full kitchen and access to a grocery shopper if I decided to make any dishes for myself. I would have access to the king's grounds, which included swimming pools, a tennis center, a bowling alley, a stable, and a nine-hole golf course. If escorted by vampires, I would be allowed to enjoy the Vegas night-life twice per week—as long as the king approved of my excursions and didn't need me for work.

In other words, I would be a pretty bird in a cage.

I wasn't surprised when I was met at a limousine by Mr. Cataliades as well as a whole bunch of Were guards. The demon lawyer had a somber expression upon his face as he guided me into the vehicle which would take me to my luxurious prison.

I was gladder than I could say that Quinn said his goodbye's right before the limo door closed.

A small comfort. But a comfort nonetheless.

I'd long-since run out of tears, and I kept my eyes forward during the trip, thankful that the demon didn't attempt any small talk on the way to de Castro's estate.

And what an estate it was!

At any other time, my breath might have been taken away by the lush property that seemed to pop up out of the desert. All of the buildings (and there seemed to be a lot of them in addition to the main house) were constructed in the Spanish style—with bright white exteriors and reddish stucco roofs.

And the main house? Well—I'd never seen a house so large or so imposing. It was all right angles—squares and triangles. It seemed to be hiding courtyards as if covetous of the spaces—perfect for a vampire.

The landscape around the main house looked like something out of a movie—a movie with a lot of special effects. Unrealistically bright flowers were everywhere—placed in well-ordered flower beds that each seemed to have a theme. I'd been to a botanical gardens once, and the fact that something grander was recreated in the middle of the desert was as impressive as it seemed wasteful.

I found myself hoping that the pool house was surrounded by cacti.

It wasn't.

Still, I was glad when the limo driver skipped the main house and pulled up directly to the pool house—my new house. It was larger than Gran's home!

"There are actually several pools on the estate," Mr. Cataliades informed me, as if he were a real estate agent trying to sell me the property. "The pool attached to your home will be for your private usage."

I nodded at him as I accepted the information indifferently. Before the scars left behind by Thing 1 and Thing 2 had left me too self-conscious to sunbathe—before life had ripped out my desire to do anything "enjoyable"—I would have relished the idea of a private pool.

Now?

Well—now the pool just seemed like a good place to drown myself.

A thirty-something-year-old woman, Jean, who was, apparently, to be my personal assistant was waiting to give me a tour of my new house. Oddly enough, she reminded me a bit of Margie, who had likely given up on my returning for Sam's bracelet.

I wondered what Margie must have thought of me.

I shook my head, refusing to allow those thoughts—any thoughts—to take hold, and I followed Jean as she led me through the pool house, which I figured was called as that just because it was close to a pool.

I had to admit that the house was lovely. The décor was mostly neutral in color—beige, white, and gray—but I was told that I had "no budgetary limits" when it came to any redecorating I wanted to do.

I nodded emotionlessly as Jean showed me the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the office, two guest rooms (which I couldn't imagine ever needing), and a large master suite, complete with an opulent bathroom. The final stop was at a huge walk-in closet attached to the bathroom. Jean apologized for having time to fill only one-quarter of the closet before I arrived.

She assured me—as if I needed assurances—that representatives from several area stores would be visiting beginning that very night with plenty of wares to augment the little she'd done.

After that, I was led back to the kitchen, where I met Stephan, who was to be my personal chef. He bowed a lot and gave me paperwork to "fill out" so that he would be able to anticipate "my food requirements."

After I politely declined lunch—much to Stephan's chagrin—the chef told me that the refrigerator was stocked with finger foods if I changed my mind. And then he informed me that my dinner would be served at 7:00 p.m. sharp. Having heard that I was from Louisiana, he'd be "presenting me with a buffet of dishes to remind me of home."

A knot formed in my throat, but I thanked Stephan nonetheless. As he turned to leave, I stopped him. "Stephan?"

"Yes, Miss?" he asked.

"And extra food I don't use—uh—it won't go to waste. Will it? I mean—a buffet is too much for just one person. And—my appetite isn't much to speak of."

He looked at me, clearly surprised. His mind told me that he'd cooked for many a pet during his two-decade career; in fact, he'd made his living catering to vampires by catering for their "food" even before the Great Reveal. Most of those pets had been vapid, selfish creatures according to Stephan's mind. Needless to say, none of them had given a damn about wasting food.

"There are many guards on the property," he said. "I can make any leftovers to them—if you'd like, Miss Stackhouse."

"Thanks," I said.

As soon as Stephan left, Jean took over the talking again, informing me of my appointments for that night and the next day. I would be meeting with the king at 9:00 p.m. Then, I had some appointments with tailors and designers.

However, after that, I'd be "allowed" to settle in and sleep.

Jean said that she'd arrive at the pool house at 8:00 p.m. to "help me dress." Apparently, the rest of my day was allocated to me going over the contract that had been negotiated with Felipe. Meanwhile, the rest of her day—according to her mind—would be spent arranging for a hair stylist, a nail artist (were they really called artists?), and a masseuse. It seemed that my new house was destined to become a personal spa the next day.

Given how I looked to her, Jean thought that her work was cut out for her. She wished that the demon didn't need my time so that she could get the salon people over immediately. And she worried that the king might not be pleased enough by my appearance that night.

Of course, the personal assistant had no idea that my family and fiancé had been slaughtered the day before. So it wasn't her fault that she wondered why I wasn't more pleased with my new situation. Plus, it didn't help that Jean had always wanted the life I was now getting.

She could have it.

I was grateful when—with a curtsy of sorts—Jean finally left the demon lawyer and me alone "to work," taking her internal judgments about me with her.

"Would you like to freshen up before we go over your contract?" Mr. Cataliades asked kindly.

I shook my head. I'd had on the same clothes for a long time now, but I was loathe to take them off. It felt like—once I did—the last vestiges of my previous life would be taken from me.

Like everything—everyone—else.

Mr. Cataliades began leading me through the minutia of my contract professionally and mechanically.

My residence—to be chosen especially for me by the king.

My personal chef—to be chosen especially for me by the king.

My personal assistant—to be chosen especially for me by the king.

Access to various amenities on the grounds.

A list of things I could "choose" to have: a tennis instructor, a golf instructor, a riding instructor, a ballroom dancing instructor, a personal trainer, a tutor for any subject I wanted to learn about.

I could learn to play any instrument I wanted—from the piano to the piccolo.

I would have an unlimited clothing allowance—with the caveat that my "work garments" would all need Jean's approval, for she would be aware of my clothing needs for particular settings and occasions.

A "set" work schedule of fifteen hours per week—11:00 p.m. to 4:00 a.m. per night from Thursday to Saturday. I could also be called upon to work up to twenty-five additional hours per week—either day or night as needed—with Jean alerting me to my "flex" schedule each evening at 8:00 p.m.

The demon went on and on, spending a lot of time describing the details of the blood exchanges between de Castro and me. They would start that very night. Thankfully—because the king "respected my modesty and need to grieve"—our initial bond would be formed by drinking each other's blood out of a chalice. The next two years' exchanges would be simultaneous drinking from the wrist. The next two would be simultaneous drinking from the neck—so as to "encourage more intimacy." And—on our "fifth anniversary" as a bonded "couple"—I would be expected to "attend to the king fully," which clearly meant having sex as we renewed the bond.

Thereafter, unless "otherwise informed," I would be expected to visit Felipe's bed on the first and fifteenth day of each month—dates to correspond with my feeding of him. In other words, my sex with the king would be scheduled.

The next part of the contract dealt with the bi-monthly feedings that I would be required to give to Felipe. These feedings would begin on January 1. And—redundantly (but didn't most contracts contain redundancies?)—Mr. Cataliades told me that they would occur on the first and fifteenth of each month. For the first two feedings, Felipe would "generously" allow my blood to be drawn by syringe, and he would drink it bagged. Not surprisingly, the contract stipulated a precise amount to be drawn.

Beginning on February 1, 2008, Felipe would be able to take my blood from a variety of arteries or veins—depending upon his "mood." Mr. Cataliades listed all of the vessels' scientific names, but I had no idea where they were located (even with my SAT studying—I hadn't gotten to them yet). The demon lawyer "helpfully" provided a diagram. All of the "allowed" vessels were located in "PG" places on my body. My entire arm was fair game—from my palm to my arm pit (yuck). Several places on my legs were "approved" too, but all of them were below the knees. Felipe could also take from my neck.

Until our relationship became sexual, however, Felipe had agreed to keep his "grip" on me "non-sexual in nature" as he drank from me.

I said nothing as the bondings, the beddings, and the feedings were described. I found it ironic that I now truly understood what Eric might have felt like during his negotiations with Freyda. Did Eric view sex and blood swaps as chores to "get through?" Were all of his "visits" to the queen's bed on a schedule? Or had he decided to share Freyda's bed more often than required—because the sex was pleasurable?

I knew that Eric, who was such a sexual creature by nature, wouldn't deny himself physical pleasure. I cringed. Vampires weren't known for fidelity—though there had been a time when Eric was faithful to me. I knew that time was over, but I still didn't like to think about all the sexual encounters Eric must have had since he and I parted ways—just as I'm sure that he wouldn't have liked to contemplate me having sex with others.

I shook myself out of this thought and followed what the demon lawyer was saying for a moment.

Apparently—de Castro wasn't going to deny me other sexual partners. As long as I fulfilled my "commitments to him," I was allowed to take "non-vampire" lovers—as many as I wanted—pending background checks and "Magisterial approval." In fact, the contract was worded in such a way as to encourage me to seek short-term or long-term bedfellows. And, at my request, any humans or two-natured men with whom I wanted to pursue "a long-term relationship" could be glamoured so that they were unaware of my sexual obligations to the king each month.

I found myself numbly contemplating the needlessness of going over the contract. I knew that I would never allow myself to have any kind of relationship with another—just as I knew that I would find a way to die as soon as possible. In fact, I'd already made a mental inventory of all the weapons at my disposal.

It seemed that Chef Stephan brought his own knives when he cooked, but I figured there had to be some in the kitchen.

The gas oven was another option.

Belts, sheets or clothing could be used to choke or to hang myself.

And surely there was a hair dryer in the place! Bath + hair dryer = sizzle.

And—even if there wasn't, I had a tub. Heck, I had a whole pool—where I could drown myself.

Yes—I comforted myself with the thought that there would be ways to die once I was finally alone, for I had resolved to do just that. I wouldn't be de Castro's telepath and eventual whore. And—God forbid—what if the king decided to turn me?

No—if possible—I planned to kill myself before de Castro had any control over me. Even if I didn't have the opportunity to do it before the first blood swap, I was determined that I would take a nice, long bath as soon as the sun rose the next morning.

A bath I didn't intend to leave.

Until then, I would nod compliantly and sign my name to the contract. I would eat the meal brought to me at 7:00 p.m. Heck! Good, old-fashioned Louisiana comfort food sounded like an ideal last meal!

I would show the king the appropriate level of gratitude and respect. I would even "work with" Jean to help myself be made "presentable." I would do whatever was needed until I had my chance—to die.


	4. After My Picture Fades

Chapter 04: After My Picture Fades

The demon lawyer explained the studies I would be required to undertake; apparently, I had to learn Spanish as soon as possible because many of Felipe's business associates would be "thinking" in that language. I'd been planning to take Spanish when I finally started college anyway. In fact, I had been looking forward to it. But no longer.

It was odd how one's perspective changed immediately when something transformed from being voluntary to being forced.

Next, Mr. Cataliades told me more about my "official position" at court. Although Angie Weatherspoon was still Felipe's consort, she wasn't in Nevada that often (not that I could blame her). Thus, I would be required to function as the "acting consort" on some "formal occasions," which seemed to refer back to what I was thinking of as the "dates clause," which the demon lawyer had covered earlier.

I shook my head, again marveling at the fact that contracts seemed full of redundancies. I smiled wryly as I thought about the first time I'd read the "fine print" on Sam's contracts with his vendors.

Redundant. Wordy. Needlessly complicated.

Legalese—as I'd learned that that kind of "English" was called.

I was—for the pettiest of reasons—glad to hear that Angie wouldn't be around much. She'd once ruined Eric's favorite table by dancing on it in the sluttiest looking spiked heels I'd ever seen—for no other reason than that she was an unthoughtful bitch.

I had the distinct feeling that Angie wouldn't be upset in the least that I would eventually be "scheduled" into de Castro's calendar.

As Mr. Cataliades read more "legalese," I let my mind wander again. I had no idea how long it took to drown, but I was already thinking that the tub was my best bet when it came to a quick, clean (pun intended) suicide. I figured that if I didn't hold my breath at all—if I just submerged myself, opened my mouth, and breathed the water into my lungs on purpose—I could end my life swiftly. I would also find something heavy to keep me from floating up once I was unconscious. And I would NOT let myself thrash about.

And—if I could find a blow dryer? Bonus!

"And the last clause. You cannot be turned by either the king himself or any other vampire in his employ," the lawyer said, interrupting my planning.

"Really?" I asked, feeling a level of relief, despite my overall numbness.

"You should read this over for yourself," Mr. Cataliades said softly, motioning to the contract.

I wanted to decline. After all, it wouldn't matter what I signed—considering how little time I'd be dealing with the consequences of my name on the sheets of paper.

But there was something in Mr. Cataliades's eyes that screamed at me to read the pieces of paper he held out.

"Sure. Okay," I said. "I just need to use the bathroom real quick first."

Even with a broken spirit and heart, it seemed as if the bladder kept working.

As I began to rise, Mr. Cataliades was immediately in front of me—taking my hand almost gallantly.

"Ask to read the contract over again in your room," the demon said as soon as we'd made physical contact.

It took me a moment to realize that he'd not spoken aloud. He'd projected his thoughts into my head. Of course, I had suspected that he was a telepath. After all, it was from his blood in my system that I'd gotten my own telepathy. I also knew that not many people knew about my personal connection with the demon. Moreover, I was pretty sure that the vampires Mr. Cataliades worked for had no idea about the fact that some demons were telepathic. As a race, they were even more secretive than fairies or vampires.

"Keep your shields fully down; otherwise, even my attempts to project to you will be wasted," he conveyed—his thoughts to mine—before he dropped my hand.

I gave him the tiniest of nods before letting what remained of my battered shields fall away.

"Try not to react, but I must inform you that your entire home is under video and audio surveillance, even the bathroom."

I teetered a bit on my feet, but kept my countenance calm. The demon looked at me almost proudly.

"Niall told Felipe that you were suicidal and that you should be monitored closely for the time-being. Since you cannot read the minds of demons—unless we allow it—a half Dae has been hired to monitor you during the daytime. Vampires will do it at night. I'm sorry, dear, but your privacy here is only an illusion," Mr. Cataliades added, sounding contrite in his thoughts.

I fought off the urge to cringe. Felipe intended to watch me everywhere—even in my bathroom! Never mind that Niall was right—that I was suicidal!

I felt even more hopeless—more helpless—than I had before. And the matter was made worse because Niall had been involved in my surveillance! That seemed almost as brutal to me as the murders committed by his enemies.

"Do you mind if I read the contract in my room?" I asked noncommittally.

The demon lawyer smiled and placed the contract into a manila folder. "Of course. I will just take a walk on the grounds; I will return in about an hour to answer any questions you might have."

He added telepathically. "I will be scouting for gaps in the surveillance outside of your home. Be sure to read the document in this envelope while I'm gone."

"Thank you," I told him as I went into my bedroom and then my ensuite bathroom.

It took all of my courage to go to the bathroom as I'd planned—lest I would be suspected of knowing that I was being watched.

With difficulty, I didn't attempt to figure out where the cameras were, and I tried to "show" as little flesh as possible as I pulled down my pants and sat on the toilet. I could only wonder if whoever was watching was getting his or her thrill over me peeing. Would de Castro watch all my "naked" activities later? Did he plan to watch every shower? Every shit? In that moment, a part of me wished that I had a good shit to "share" with him—one full of gas and other unpleasant noises.

Gran would be ashamed of my vulgar thoughts, but—honestly—I was too fucking raw to care.

Sadly I didn't have any food in me to murder my new toilet with. And—in the end—even my bladder under-performed. Stage fright—I supposed. After I'd done all I could, I quickly wiped and pulled up my pants. I washed my hands without looking in the mirror—just in case the camera was there.

And then I went into the bedroom. I bypassed the comfortable-looking bed and took a seat on a settee covered in the softest fabric I'd ever felt in my life.

I didn't allow myself to enjoy the feel of it. Instead, I impassively opened the envelop Mr. Cataliades had given to me, and I read.

My Dearest Sookie,

First of all, no one in Felipe's retinue knows about our connection with one another, and none know that we can communicate telepathically. Also, there is magic on this paper to ensure that only you can read my words to you. To any other, this document will look like a copy of the contract I just read to you.

As meager an offering as it is, this letter is an attempt to correct what has gone wrong because of the gift Fintan begged me to bestow upon all of his offspring who inherited the essential spark. Without that "gift," you might have lived a peaceful life. It is not enough penance, but I have experienced many hours of guilt over your suffering. My only defense is that I did not know you were telepathic until after Hadley had told Queen Sophie-Anne.

Perhaps, however, that fact paints me in a worse light. When Fintan left your family to their own devices—partly in order to make sure they were not discovered by other fairies—he asked that I check in on his children to make sure the fairy spark never manifested in them. Since it turned out that neither Corbett nor Linda had inherited the spark—I made an assumption that cost you dearly. During my many years, I had never heard of a Fae spark skipping a generation—let alone two as it did in Hunter's case. Still, I checked the status of both Jason and Hadley when they were infants, for—if a spark takes root—the magic has always appeared in the firstborn child of a part-Fae.

Except for you Sookie.

I cannot defend my actions—or lack thereof—in your case. Such a thing would be an insult to you. If I could go back in time, I would have visited your family on many more occasions, just to make sure. I would have helped you to control your telepathy from an early age. I would have never allowed Niall to get within a hundred miles of you.

But I cannot travel back in time.

In truth, if I knew then what I know now, I would have told Fintan, the best friend I ever had, "No," when he asked for my blood to give to Adele when she was with child. I would have risked his turning his back on me forever, rather than allowing my perceived "gift" to his offspring to place you upon the path you are on now, a path that is not unlike Mr. Northman's.

Mr. Northman's maker was a monster in many ways, but in "making" you telepathic, I find I am no better than he was—at least in the results.

Because of me, you are now enslaved—forced into a life of servitude and "comfortable imprisonment." Yes—I've negotiated that you cannot be turned, but de Castro clearly hopes that his blood will give you a long life. A very long life—thanks to your Fae blood. And—Sookie—I must warn you: he also secretly hopes that you will breed.

I overheard a conversation he had with Sandy Sechrest, his top vampire advisor.

The part of the contract giving you "leave" to take lovers is not for you; it is for de Castro. He plans to place enticing men in your path—the two-natured and humans. He has already decided to begin with Quinn since you had an affinity for him before.

Any birth control pills you ask for will be placebos. Any condoms used will be defective—unbeknownst to you or any lover you take. Felipe believes that you wouldn't even consider abortion if you got pregnant "accidentally." He would, of course, accept the pregnancy as your "right," making himself look magnanimous by discontinuing his bi-monthly feedings while you were pregnant. But—make no mistake about it—he would find a way to make sure you had his blood during your pregnancy, even if the annual bonding didn't take place while you were with child. He plans to do whatever he can to increase the chances of any children you have inheriting your magical abilities. The minute details within Felipe's plan have led me to believe that it was conceived well before the current situation brought you to this place. Felipe has simply been waiting for his opportunity, an opportunity which has been difficult to come by because of Mr. Northman's efforts.

As you may know, I worked for months to try to help Mr. Northman find a way to avoid becoming Freyda's consort, but there were no loopholes in the agreement between Freyda and the late Appius Livius Ocella.

Upon study, I determined that the only aspect of the contract that Mr. Northman could renegotiate involved increasing the tenure of his "service" to Freyda. You need to understand that Mr. Northman could not simply deny the contract once his maker had died—at least not without the backing of King Felipe. If Mr. Northman had, he would have become a fugitive, and he would have been hunted. Unless a maker has released his or her progeny—as Mr. Ocella never did with Mr. Northman—the right of the maker to have complete control over the child is considered sacrosanct among vampires.

Only a monarch can petition the Vampire Council to argue that a child has been wronged by his or her maker, and de Castro refused to do so.

Trust me when I say that Mr. Northman would have been tortured and killed if he refused to fulfill the contract. Ms. Ravenscroft and Ms. Slaughter would have met the same fate—just so that Mr. Northman would have been forced to feel their pain as well. And, of course, anyone else whom he cared for might have also been tortured and killed in front of him—just to make his punishment that much more gruesome. His day man. His known human associates. And you. Especially you would have been at great risk.

Mr. Northman would have been used as a lesson reminding all vampires not to disobey their makers. Throughout history, such lessons have been beyond cruel. And they have been few and far between because of that.

I know that you were led to believe that Mr. Northman had a choice and became Freyda's consort out of a sense of honor or obligation to his maker. That is what he wanted you to believe in the end. He felt strongly that you should have the opportunity to go on with your life—without pining for him.

He felt it would be better if you hated him.

Because of Appius, Mr. Northman has been "enslaved" (this was his word, not mine), but he has reconciled himself to the fact that time will provide him with a solution for each thing that has been taken from him—except for you.

Practical vampire that he is—he knew that, even if you lived a long life, he was destined to never be with you again. But that does not mean he failed you—that he does not love you.

Even now, I believe he feels great love for you.

In fact, I have become convinced that no one has ever loved another more than Mr. Northman loves you. And it was this love that compelled him to renegotiate in the only way that he could with Freyda. He agreed to give her an additional one hundred years of his service if she could convince Felipe to let you live out your life in peace, as well as to continue to offer you royal protection from afar.

Money and favors were the price of your relative freedom, but Eric didn't stop until he'd done all he could do for you.

In fact, the only "complication" in putting together your current contract with Felipe was getting Mr. Northman to allow for alterations in his own contract with Freyda.

As the one writing the new contract, I sat in on the conference call between Felipe and Mr. Northman. Mr. Northman was told about the deaths of your family and fiancé. He was told that your new contract with de Castro was set into motion by your fairy great-grandfather, who was positive that your only chance of survival was with the king.

Mr. Northman's power was limited because of his position as consort, but I want you to know that it was he who insisted that you be given ample time to grieve before you are required to give yourself to the king sexually. But—for the five years granted for your grieving—there was a price for him too. His queen required an additional quarter century of him. And Felipe has required that Mr. Northman never speak with you if you are at the same functions.

Just so you know—Mr. Northman tried to ensure that you would never be touched sexually by King Felipe. He offered a fortune, more years to Freyda, and fealty to de Castro after his term with Freyda was over. Felipe denied these proposals.

Sookie, I have not been a good "guardian" to you; I know that. But—despite the fact that I've met you only a few times—I have gotten a sense of your personality that I do not believe Niall is capable of understanding. I think this is because I live among humans, and—for better or worse—you continue to think of yourself as one of them.

Niall believes that—with time—you will come to find some contentment in your life with the vampire king. He believes that you will rally as you have done in the past.

I am not so sure. Without something to live for, I sense that you will choose to seek the only escape available to you: death.

Indeed, there are only two differences that I see between you and Mr. Northman's situations. However, there are many similarities.

You are both imprisoned in cages you despise.

You are both obliged to work for a vampire monarch.

Soon enough—you will join Mr. Northman in living a luxurious life that you don't want.

You both have been given just enough of an "illusion of freedom" by your masters to foster your gratefulness to them.

Beginning in five years, you must yield your body, just as he does.

And—finally—you would both rather die than be slaves.

Here are the two differences between you.

One—Mr. Northman will not kill himself because he can still be of service to those he loves: namely you and his vampire progeny.

Two—he will not kill himself because he is immortal and, unless he meets his true death, he will become free again in some distant future.

You have neither of these two consolations for your state of being.

Dearest Sookie, I should attempt to convince you to stay in this world. Like Niall, I ought to do all in my power to try to force you to stay alive, even going so far as to tell Felipe that he needs to keep you constantly guarded—perpetually—lest you try to harm yourself.

But I am not that cruel.

Instead, I am prepared to offer you two choices beyond the "non-choice" of the contract with Felipe: my help in killing yourself or a chance to live your life differently.

After I leave you, I will be traveling to see Mr. Northman so that I can give him a copy of the addendums to his contract. Knowing him, he will read every word before he signs the new document. Knowing Freyda, she will insist upon reading it first.

Just as this letter is enchanted so that its true message will only be seen by you, Mr. Northman's new contract will contain a secret message that only he can see.

My dear, I have discovered another cluviel dor. As you know, the fairy token can be used only in a pure act of love. I have great affection for you, but what I feel doesn't come close to what I believe Mr. Northman feels. I intend to ask him to use the cluviel dor to ensure your safety and freedom from Supernatural creatures. In fact, I will be instructing Mr. Northman to make a very precise wish regarding your safety and well-being.

You may ask why I don't simply give you the object. Sadly, I do not believe that you have enough love for yourself to try to save yourself. Instead, I believe that you would opt to free Mr. Northman rather than yourself.

Once Mr. Northman's reads my request, I will hand him a pen—a pen that contains the Fae charm. He will keep that pen and—hopefully—use it as soon as he's alone.

What the wish will do for you exactly, I can only—hope.

However, I am confident in the vampire's love—in his ability to somehow set you free.

I believe that I asked you once to memorize my telephone number. Once you are free, phone me if you need my counsel or help.

Of course—this choice at another chance might very well not appeal to you. You may be too far broken to wish to go on—even if the cluviel dor functions to give you your safety and freedom. That is why the pen in the envelope I gave you contains an untraceable poison. If you open the lid and drink, you will begin to feel tired after a few minutes. You will sleep. And you will die, and no one will be the wiser. Unfortunately, your home offers no privacy.

This is why I hope to have the opportunity to explore the grounds—to find a place where you can take your life without my involvement being known if possible. Also, if Felipe's people see you drinking from the pen, they might find a way to counteract the poison before it does its work.

Of course, any other type of self-harm you tried would also be met with countermeasures as well.

I fear that—no matter what Felipe has sworn—he will turn you if he can. Don't risk that, Sookie. If you decide to die, make sure you use the pen's contents while the sun is up and where you cannot be seen.

I truly am sorry I cannot do more for you. I am even sorrier that I did not do more when I had the chance.

I hope that you will take some time to decide what you will do. I pray that you will give Mr. Northman the chance to help you become free. I pray that you choose to live.

Regards,

Desmond Cataliades

I sat motionlessly, waiting for tears to come. They refused me.

I guess I truly was out of them.

I should have been able to cry for Eric. The demon lawyer had compared his situation to mine, but it was worse.

"Two hundred and twenty-five years," I mumbled almost silently—almost incoherently—so Felipe's minions wouldn't hear me.

I should have cried for the man I still loved.

Or for Sam.

Or for Jason.

Or Remy. Or Michele.

Or the innocent children who'd been added to my victims: Hunter, Marie.

However, in my numb state—my brokenness—I couldn't feel anything.

No compassion.

No pity.

No love.

No sorrow.

Nothing.

Actually, that wasn't true. I felt a little relief as I looked at the pen in the envelope.

Salvation.

I gripped the pen, imagining my body heat warming the elixir inside—an elixir which might take me to Heaven or to the Summerland.

Or even to Hell.

Honestly, I preferred anywhere but the opulent bedroom that seemed to be closing in upon me.

Despite the temptation to drink the poison right away—to get my life over with—I wasn't going to implicate the demon or risk being "saved." Anyway, I already had an idea about how I could take the poison in "private"—even if Mr. Cataliades didn't find a gap in the surveillance outside.

I felt the demon's mind reenter my new house, and I went to join him in the living room.

The lawyer looked at me expectantly, even as we both sat down on the lush couches in the well-lit room. "Do you have any questions for me, Miss Stackhouse?" he asked aloud, though the query echoed in his thoughts as well.

"Is there anything else I need to do other than to sign this?" I asked calmly.

"Could my death be traced to you?" I asked telepathically.

"No," I gave me an answer for both the questions.

"Did you find a gap in their cameras?" I asked silently as I looked back down at the contract.

"There is a gazebo fifty feet west of the pool. At the northwest corner of the structure is an oak tree. If you lean against the gazebo and directly face the tree, you will not be seen by any cameras," he answered.

I lifted the poisoned pen to paper.

"Will this thing write?" I asked with my mind.

"Yes," he responded. "There is a lower reservoir of ink."

"Thank you for all your help, Mr. Cataliades," I said aloud before quickly signing my name.

"You're welcome, Sookie," the demon said before leaving me alone to contemplate the choices he'd given me.

It had turned out that he was a good guardian after all.

Better late than never.


	5. You're Wondering If I'm Okay

Chapter 05: You're Wondering If I'm Okay

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2007, 7:30 P.M. (CENTRAL STANDARD TIME)

ERIC POV

I had failed Sookie Stackhouse.

Despite all my self-perceived cleverness—all my machinations to keep her safe.

I had succeeded in one way only: I'd managed to ensure that vampires wouldn't be the aggressors in Sookie's life. It had cost me one hundred years, but I'd done it.

And I'd do it again.

But I couldn't prevent the fairies from destroying Sookie's life once and for all.

The gods knew—Neave and Lochlan had tried. But Sookie had retained her spirit even after they'd tortured her.

I'd been happier than I could say when Niall conveyed he intended to magically seal the gateways between the fairy realm and the human one. I'd thought that the elimination of Claude had been the last loose end.

I'd thought that having Karin guard Sookie and monitor the Fae portal near her home for a year would be enough—certainly long enough to confirm that the Fae would no longer be an issue. I'd thought that no activity in a year would mean that Niall had fulfilled his oath.

I had been wrong—so wrong!

I growled, enraged at myself.

I should have never allowed Niall access to Sookie, but he'd made his request so "skillfully"—after sneaking up on me and while holding a stake to my heart.

Fucking fairies.

I'd known that—even if I didn't make the introduction—Niall would get to Sookie. He'd simply used me for expediency.

If I had imagined the trouble Niall would bring to my once-bonded—once-wife—I would have spirited her away, risking her hate rather than allowing her to become vulnerable.

And—ultimately—what had Niall done for her? Because he'd made contact with her, she'd been placed onto the radars of his enemies.

She'd been tortured.

She'd lost so many that she loved.

And—now—she'd be forced to endure more grief and guilt than anyone could take.

And she'd be doing it all as a blood slave—albeit a well-treated one.

My hands curled into fists. I wished to face Niall in that moment—to kill him slowly.

Unwilling to protect his own great-granddaughter, the bastard had delivered Sookie to Felipe on a golden platter!

And then I'd been forced into an "agreement" with Niall's plans, even allowing the terms of my contracts with Felipe and Freyda to be altered—just so that Sookie would live on. So that her life wouldn't be so miserable.

I'd thought about denying any changes. Knowing Sookie, she would prefer death to imprisonment. But the thought of more fairies getting ahold of her—the thought of them doing what Neave and Lochlan had once done to her . . . .

It was too much for me to bear.

So—I'd chosen selfishness; I'd negotiated.

I couldn't yet fathom a world without my once-bonded, my once-wife—my Sookie—in it. Even if she would never again be mine.

I'd expected to have years—decades—to prepare myself for her being gone.

I wasn't ready.

Yes—selfish.

My one consolation was that the King of Nekana, as Felipe now called his three states (a stupid fucking abbreviation if you asked me), had been "forced" to deal with me because my contract with Freyda and him had been meant to ensure that Sookie would never belong to Felipe—or any vampire.

However, I'd been mostly powerless in the end—mostly because Freyda had refused to "take Sookie in" and protect her, even after I'd offered her another five hundred years and vowed to never again see Sookie.

I don't even think Freyda denied me out of jealousy or spite; I think she denied me because the inclusion of Sookie in her life simply didn't fit with her five-year plan.

Or her fifty-year plan.

Or her hundred-year plan.

If nothing else, Freyda enjoyed a plan. And—once enacted—most of Freyda's plans were followed through to the end.

No matter the consequences.

Indeed, the best I'd been able to get in the renegotiation had been five years of "relative" peace for Sookie—a half a decade during which she wouldn't be forced to service Felipe sexually.

Yes—I'd failed her.

Again.

I pinched the bridge of my nose hard as a knock sounded at the door.

I was expected at court that night, and I would need to put on the mask I had perfected long ago—with Appius.

No matter what occurred, I vowed to be stoic—as I'd been each night since my sentence in Oklahoma began.

Except for one night.

The previous night.

But my reaction to Sookie's current situation couldn't be helped. I still loved her. And—much to Felipe and Freyda's amusement—I'd shown many of my true feelings as I'd tried to argue for Sookie's freedom.

I suppose it had been a small victory that Felipe had agreed to "limit" the number of times per month he would take her blood and force her sexual submission.

I just wished that I'd been able to convince the king to agree to "the usual practices" of vampire bonding: one blood exchange and one sexual encounter per annum. But that was too much to ask for.

As I walked with my guard toward the throne room, I contemplated my sexual encounters with Freyda—both of them. They'd been pleasant physically. Freyda was beautiful. She was particularly skilled in the art of the blow job. My cock had enjoyed her pussy. But there had been nothing different about Freyda from any other vampire I'd ever fucked.

Except that I was obliged to be her consort. Obliged to fuck her.

She didn't seem to mind the arrangement.

I did.

Granted, being obliged to fuck her was much better than being obliged to get fucked. So I supposed it was a lucky thing that Appius hadn't decided to contract me to a male "top" vampire.

Anyway, what did it matter whom I screwed now?

I knew fundamentally that no sexual partner would ever be to me what Sookie had been. No other would demand and deserve my fidelity. No other would command my body. No other would capture my heart.

I straightened to my full height as I entered the throne room.

Three, three, and one: that was the math of my life now.

Three nights per week in attendance in the throne room with Freyda.

Three nights per week training vampires throughout Freyda's kingdom.

One night per week for my own.

On these nights, I would travel to Tom, Oklahoma, the southeastern-most town in the state that I was chained to. Freyda had "indulged me," allowing me to buy a home there. I was permitted to "sleep" in that home one day per week—as long as I didn't contact my vampire children or Sookie.

Honestly, I doubted it mattered to Freyda where I spent any of my days as long as I smiled sincerely enough in the Press photos of us—as long as I articulated my "love" for her during the occasional interview since the queen liked to pretend that she was the star of her own fucking fairy tale.

Me? Prince Charming?

Yeah—right!

Of course—though I had to admit that Freyda was tolerable overall—I didn't love her. Not in the least. However, contrary to what my maker had taught me, I'd learned that vampires could love.

Deeply.

Even against their will.

My little home in Tom was the only place where I'd truly felt peace since I'd left Louisiana. There I kept some of my most treasured possessions, including a few odds and ends that Sookie had left at my home in Shreveport the last time she'd been there.

A hairbrush.

A pair of thick socks.

A ponytail holder.

Practical things.

Solid things.

I had things that reminded me of my children too, for I would not be allowed to see them for a very long time. But, at least, I held out hope that I would be able to look upon them again—eventually.

The night was young, and I approached Freyda's throne with as much respect as ever, bowing deeply before taking my usual place behind and to the right of her.

"You are well, my consort?" she asked, her voice lilting—playful.

She'd enjoyed my discomfort the night before, teasing me after my conference call with Cataliades and de Castro was completed.

Freyda wasn't particularly cruel. She just found it amusing that I still held a torch for the human who'd rejected my bond.

"Of course I am well," I responded. "I am in your presence."

She cackled and began her work for the evening. On the nights she held court, Freyda expected my presence, my protection, and my counsel. She did not discount my opinions either—though she didn't necessarily agree with them.

All in all, we had a good working relationship, though I knew that I had little true power.

At midnight, the demon Desmond Cataliades arrived, and Freyda asked that he be escorted to her private office. Three hours later—when the rest of her commitments had been met—Freyda motioned for me to follow her to take care of my own business.

It surprised me not at all when Freyda led the conversation with the demon lawyer. It also didn't surprise me when she insisted upon being the first to read the revisions to my contract—as if she wasn't a fucking infant compared to me!

Bill fucking Compton was only a decade or so her junior!

When the others in the room weren't looking, I closed my eyes for a moment. And I refocused on what I needed to: the changes to my world.

Twenty five extra years as Freyda's consort.

A vow never to communicate with Sookie in any way—by speech or by writing or by signal—when we were in the same place.

I felt my molars pressing together, though I tried to keep my jaw muscles from tensing. Likely, I would see Sookie from time to time once she was officially de Castro's bonded. She would be paraded to events as "his."

And—if Sookie initiated communication with me? I would have to ignore her completely.

As if she wasn't there.

If she said, "hello," I was to turn around and leave the room immediately if possible.

If she made eye contact, I was to look away as if I didn't recognize her.

I was to appear in all ways indifferent to her, and—if I did not—Sookie would face punishment in the form of public humiliation at de Castro's hands. And I wouldn't allow for that.

Indeed, I knew that the torture of seeing her—but totally disregarding her—would be much worse that never seeing her again.

As Freyda slowly read over the revised contract—commenting on parts of it aloud as if she were at a play—I stood straight and unmoving next to the door.

Only after she'd finished reading did Freyda motion for me to sit. She slid the document to me.

With a maker like Appius, I'd been weaned on torture.

Physical and mental.

To say that I'd learned to control my emotions—as well as my expressions—over the years was an understatement. Only one subject could cause me to falter: Sookie.

"Do not react to what you read," Mr. Cataliades's letter began—as if anticipating that I might do just that, given his subject matter: Sookie.

Of course, he was right to caution me.

I used all of my power to keep my face schooled—my eyes free of all emotion, even curiosity.

The demon's letter explained many things.

His secret connection with Sookie—one she'd not trusted me enough to tell me about.

Sookie's current state of despair.

The demon giving her an easy method of suicide—if she chose it.

The cluviel dor found by Cataliades not three weeks before—something that he now took as providence.

A carefully worded wish for me to make for Sookie—if I loved her.

If.

I almost lost my composure at that ridiculous word.

There was no such thing as "if" when it came to my feelings for Sookie.

After reading about the part I could play on Sookie's behalf, I questioned nothing. Instead, I thanked my gods and I asked them to keep Sookie whole. I prayed that she could rediscover happiness in peace.

Mr. Cataliades offered me a pen.

The pen.

I signed the new contract without asking any questions.

And—of course—I pocketed the pen.

Something unnoticed by Freyda.

I had very little privacy in my queen's home. Not even my room was left un-surveilled. But my coffin was my own. The pen—the cluviel dor—the miracle—was still in my pocket when I went to my rest.

I gripped it.

I wished.

But I didn't wish what Cataliades had suggested. Well-meaning as he seemed to be, the demon's wish was for Sookie's safety. But he didn't know her. And he didn't know me.

He didn't know us.

He didn't know about the happiest time of both of our lives—the time when we were together in her home. Our home.

But Sookie had been right. If I'd stayed memoryless, I would have eventually felt as if I were "missing" something.

No—"safe" wasn't enough. Not for Sookie.

Not unless she was happy too. Call me greedy.

But I loved her.

With that in mind, I wished.

"Please give me time—time to ensure that she is happy and safe," I whispered.

And I kept wishing that wish—with all that I was.

Until long after I felt the magic within the object receding.

Until every ounce of me seemed to disappear into the ether along with my pleas.

Until well after dawn.

5:00 A.M. DECEMBER 24, 2007

SOOKIE POV

As I wrote the date in my new "diary," I remembered the last Christmas Eve Gran had been alive. I tried to recall the scent of her famous pecan pie.

But I failed.

Unsurprisingly, I'd had no chance to stroll to the gazebo and face the oak tree so that I could drink the poison Mr. Cataliades had given to me.

Instead, I'd had to endure Jean's return right after Mr. Cataliades left. She had more clothing for me. She took measurements of me. And it turned out that there had been time for a quick haircut and color.

At least I wouldn't die with split ends.

After my wonderful "last" dinner—hopefully—I was told to shower and dress in the outfit Jean had selected for me.

Despite knowing that I was being watched, I managed my shower more easily than I'd thought I would be able to; in fact, I wondered why I'd ever blushed at my nudity before.

After all, my body was merely another of the commodities described in the contract I'd just signed. Even my veins were listed—catalogued.

I dressed in the clothing that had been laid out for me—after saying a sad goodbye to my own clothing—for I knew that it would be disposed of before I returned from my meeting with the king. I placed a pad of paper and "the" pen into a designer purse that had been left with my chosen outfit. And then I transferred my wallet and my small photo album to the purse. Other than my engraved engagement ring, which now seemed to be cutting through my finger, they were now the last pieces of my life that was. I didn't want them to be taken while I was gone.

I felt barely aware as Felipe greeted me in his cliché Count Dracula cape and with his cheesy accent.

He kissed my hands—both of them.

He complimented my dress.

He shared his condolences at my losses.

He made a big show of cutting his wrist and collecting his "precious" blood in a chalice that looked like something out of a treasure trove.

I took the required sip and then cringed as my own wrist was cut so that Felipe could drink my blood.

He seemed well-pleased with the flavor.

"Until tomorrow night and our next exchange," he leered before leaving my side.

I felt ill.

Jean escorted me back "home" and supervised as I ate a "required" snack and took "required" vitamins.

While I'd met with de Castro, several racks of clothing had been set up for me—meaning Jean—to choose from. Stonily, I tried on everything presented to me. I endured fittings (because the hems always seemed too long). I smiled insincerely at compliments. I showed a preference for pink things as an inside joke with Pam in mind.

I also wondered whether the world would suddenly just freeze once Eric made his cluviel dor wish in the Central Time Zone. Honestly, it was a mere academic question at this point.

For I intended to kill myself no matter what.

Still—I wondered about the effects of the cluviel dor. Would I be suddenly zapped to a different place? Maybe Eric's homeland or somewhere he thought of as safe?

What would my "freedom" and "safety" be like to a fairy charm?

Honestly, I held out very little hope for a good outcome. After all the only "good" fairy I'd ever known was Claudine. And maybe Dermot—though his own interest in me was rather suspect. I certainly never would consider Niall to be "good" again. Oh—I think he meant well, but he'd turned out to be a plague when it came to his family—every single one of its members.

Clearly, I'd inherited that quality from him.

I found myself wondering what my life would have been like if Niall had never entered it. I couldn't help but to think it would have been exponentially better.

After I'd been a Barbie for several hours, I decided that it was time to say "when." I'd given up on the cluviel dor by then; after all, the sun would have risen in Oklahoma by then. Maybe Eric didn't love me. Maybe his wish had no potency. Or maybe he threw away the pen that Mr. Cataliades had given to him and signed the new contract with his blood.

I suppose it didn't matter.

I didn't really want my second chance. Or was it my third? Actually, it seemed more like my hundredth chance. And I was tired of always being the one who got those extra chances—while the people I loved died or disappeared from my life.


	6. The Drum Beats out of Time

Chapter 06: The Drum Beats Out of Time

SOOKIE POV, CONTINUED

For the cameras I knew were looking, I made a show of taking a blank notebook and my "special" pen to bed with me. Perhaps I was powerless in many ways, but I knew that I never wanted to drink Felipe's blood again. I could imagine him—already—trying to get a fix on my emotions.

And that thought made me feel violated, as I'd felt around Uncle Bartlett.

I cringed.

I was gratified to know that the only thing Felipe would feel from me before his day rest would be revulsion and resolution.

Perfectly normal feelings, given my situation.

I spent half an hour writing in my "journal" with the pen the demon had left for me.

I found myself wondering about the mechanics of the miraculous pen for a while. But then I realized that it didn't matter how it worked—just that it did.

I wrote about Sam and my grief. I wrote about Hunter and Remy. I wrote about Jason, Michele, and their beautiful little girl, Marie. I wrote about Claudine. I wrote about Tray. I wrote about Gran. I wrote about everyone I felt guilt for.

I wrote until sunrise.

And then I wrote dishonest words—as if I were trying to reconcile myself to my new life. As if the thought of being with Felipe wasn't "that bad."

As if I wasn't about to take my life.

After I was finished writing, I tucked myself deeply into my comforter and then covered myself completely—knowing that no cameras could see me under the thick blanket. Perhaps the "tenting" move looked juvenile to my watchers, but I refused to wait another moment to take control of my life—my death.

Momentarily, I thought about how ungrateful I was being; after all, Mr. Cataliades had decided to use the cluviel dor for me. I should have just told him to keep it.

I scoffed. I'd add that to the list of my regrets.

Fearing that my makeshift "tent" would become suspicious to my overseers, I quickly maneuvered the pen toward my mouth, uncapped it, and drank.

I felt nothing.

I put the pen back together and then uncovered myself from the comforter. I made a show of writing for a few more minutes before putting my journal and the pen into the nightstand, hoping that Mr. Cataliades was right that the poison wouldn't be traced.

After that, I went to the bathroom and peed, wishing again that I had more disgusting bodily functions to "share" with the people watching me.

But my body just wasn't cooperating.

Then I brushed my teeth and returned to bed, still feeling nothing.

I began to wonder if Mr. Cataliades's miracle elixir/poison was a dud. And then I grew sleepy. Finally.

Was this it?

Was the poison finally working?

I'd always heard that one's life passed before one's eyes when one was nearing death. But as I closed my eyes, I saw only the deaths of others: Maudette, Dawn, Gran, René, Lafayette, Lorena, Andre, Tray, Claudine, Queen Sophie-Anne, Sigebert, Appius, Alexei, Victor, Arlene, Copley Carmichael, Claude, Sam, Jason, Michele, little Marie, Remy.

Hunter. For some reason, his death hurt most of all.

Probably because I'd always thought of him as my child—my child that could have been.

But wasn't.

Enemies, friends, and family members melded together grotesquely in my mind. The only thing they all had in common was that I felt as if I'd been responsible for every single one of their deaths.

I didn't fight when sleep took me to death—as if I were a vampire.

I opened my eyes to a pitch-black, cool place that seemed familiar.

The temperature was familiar.

The smell was familiar.

The way my skin felt in the room was familiar.

I reached up, somehow knowing what I'd find.

A piece of string with a fishing weight at the end of it.

When I'd first begun working at Merlotte's so many years before, I'd hated walking into the walk-in refrigerator/freezer. There wasn't a light switch on the wall by the entrance, so one had to take a couple of steps into the walk-in in order to reach the string and turn on the light. Most of the time, I could make it to that string before the door closed, but I'd been a second or two too slow enough times to know the darkness of the room.

The intense black.

After a while, I'd craved that darkness at times—escaping to the cooler on occasion in order to try to get away from people's thoughts. I'd used the dark and the cold to concentrate on something—anything—but the onslaught.

I looked around the walk-in. It looked completely—normal.

Boxes of produce: yellow onions (because they were cheaper than white), iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, okra.

I frowned at the okra. That must have been ordered by mistake. We'd not served fresh fried okra since Lafayette died. No one else could make the breading quite right. Thus, we'd bought frozen okra for years.

Beers—tapped and untapped—took up the largest section of the refrigerator. Next to the beer was a half-empty box of ketchup bottles. In the back—the freezer part of the walk-in—I noticed frozen French fries, but no frozen hamburger patties. I frowned as I saw fresh hamburger meat on the shelf below the ketchup. Again, I was a bit confused since no one but Lafayette had ever insisted upon working with fresh ground beef.

I shook my head, realizing that okra and hamburger meat ought not to be taking up any of my thoughts. What I should have been contemplating was why Heaven looked like the walk-in of Merlotte's!

Just as I decided to see what was beyond the walk-in door, it opened, revealing a nervous-looking Terry. He'd always hated the walk-in.

"Sookie!" he exclaimed. "Thank God you're here!"

"Terry?" I asked. Had he died too? Last I knew—he and his wife Jimmie were expecting a new litter of puppies.

"Um—would you mind gettin' me a bag of fries?" he asked. "Lafayette forgot 'em when he left for the day."

"Lafayette?" I asked. Well—I guess it made sense that Lala would be in Merlotte's Heaven. He'd been dead for years, after all.

Terry nodded. "Hey. You okay, Sook?" he asked. "You in here to get away for a spell?"

"Uh—yeah," I replied.

"Well—uh—I hate to tell you, but it's gettin' busy, and Arlene's startin' to run around like she's on fire. And Dawn's looking for you to pass over her tables since her shift's ending."

"Arlene? Dawn?" I muttered. I guess their presence made sense too since both were dead. I found myself wondering how Terry had died. I almost asked him.

"You sure you're okay?" Terry asked rather knowingly—as if he could recognize it when someone was literally going crazy in front of his eyes. I felt as if I were.

"Yeah," I whispered.

"The fries?" he asked as I began to approach the door empty-handed.

Quickly, I got him the bag and then emerged from the walk-in tentatively.

"Terry! Hurry up with that order!" I heard Sam's voice. I went to that voice like a moth to a flame and embraced my dead fiancé.

"What in the world?!" Sam asked legitimately surprised. Hugging him, I could read Sam's thoughts clearly. He was wondering why I'd be hugging him like this, but he enjoyed the feeling of my hug nonetheless. "Maybe I should ask her out—after all," he thought. "You okay, cher?" he asked aloud.

I just buried my face into his shirt. Was heaven really Merlotte's? And—if so—why didn't Sam know we'd been engaged when he died?

"Sook, I really am needin' to get out of here. You ready for me to hand over my tables to you?" Dawn's voice asked impatiently.

I turned toward her.

"Hey Dawn, you got plans for the night?" My brother's voice ripped me from Sam. I practically ran towards him, my tears flowing. Jason was in Merlotte's Heaven too!

"What's all this?" my brother asked with uncustomary concern as he petted my hair.

Clearly, I was dead.

Again, I wondered at the fact that heaven was—Merlotte's!

"Jason?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Hey—did someone think somethin' bad at ya?" he asked in a whisper, looking around the restaurant like he was ready to kill whoever had done it. I looked too and noticed that everyone was gawking at the spectacle I was making of myself. "Was it that Maxine Fortenberry?" Jason asked, glaring at her. "I don't know why Gran stays her friend."

"She has the best gossip," I said automatically. It was an old joke between Jason and me.

My brother smiled and thumbed my tears away.

After noticing Maxine, I looked around some more and saw several other people who were supposed to be alive: Andy, Bud, Halleigh, and Tara among them. I frowned. What were they doing in Merlotte's Heaven?

"You okay, Sook?" Arlene asked with sincere concern as Dawn tapped her foot on the floor.

"Come on, Sook," Dawn frowned. "I got somewhere I wanna be!"

"Give her a sec!" Arlene scolded. "It's clear that her brain's actin' up," she added in a hissed whisper.

And just like that, it did "act up," and I was suddenly bombarded by everyone's thoughts.

There goes "Crazy Sookie" again!

Too bad that girl's batty. She's gotta nice rack!

I bet she's got more fat on her thighs and ass than I do.

I wonder if she'd let me butt-fuck her. I'd hate to risk having a kid with someone that crazy!

Why can't those waitresses get a move on? I need another sweet tea!

I hope Sookie's okay. She looks pale.

The last thought had come from Hoyt Fortenberry, and for some reason his thoughts focused my attention.

Hoyt wasn't dead too—was he?

Had a nuclear bomb hit Bon Temps?

"You gonna be okay for your shift?" Sam asked me quietly.

For the first time, I looked down. I was in an "old" Merlotte's uniform. I'd convinced Sam to go with a different design the year before—still sexy enough, but a little more modest because the thin white shirts had been replaced by thicker green cotton. Plus, I didn't generally wear a waitressing uniform anymore. As co-owner, I decided that a polo shirt would help to distinguish me as a manager. I frowned at my short black shorts. I hadn't worn them since I'd gotten my scars thanks to Things 1 & 2.

But—then again—I didn't see any scars.

"Of course she's up for work!" Dawn said. In the next moment, the brunette had taken my hand and was all but dragging me toward the waitresses' work station, telling me about her tables, which were now my tables.

Automatically, I attempted to put up my shields, even as Dawn thought about how she was going to go—finally—to Fangtasia for the first time that night. She wanted to fuck that tall, blond vampire she'd heard so much about. And she wasn't about to let me fuck up things for her with my "crazy ways."

I listened as Dawn told me about the active tables and thrust several tickets in my direction. And then she hurried away.

I found myself walking mechanically to the table where the Rattrays had just sat down. If I had the energy, I would have laughed hysterically. How had they—of all people—made it to Merlotte's Heaven?

I frowned.

Heaven? Hell? Bon Temps? Were they all synonyms at this point?

As rude as ever—before they were killed, at least—the redneck couple ordered a pitcher of cheap beer. And—after that—I was content to perform my old job, happy to get into the rhythms of waitressing. Honestly, I enjoyed the feeling I was experiencing from being in a moment where the world seemed normal.

Maybe that's what Heaven really did.

Maybe Heaven took people to a time when they were happy and kept them there.

As I delivered a pitcher to Jason and Hoyt, I decided to embrace whatever was going on—even if it was a poison-induced dream.

The only complaint I had was that my telepathy was still in place; I really wished that it wouldn't have followed me to the afterlife. But, after a while, I was managing my shields pretty well. And I wasn't about to complain too much—not when I was getting to interact with Sam and Jason. And even Arlene was acting as she had when we were still friends!

Plus, as a bonus, I actually made decent tips—despite the fact that I was moving rather automatically.

Maybe I was in shock?

Everything felt so "surreal"—for lack of a better word. And, of course, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it didn't. So I just kept working.

Kept moving.

After Sam realized that I wasn't going to desperately hug him again, he spoke to and joked around with me. I quickly realized that I preferred this brand of casual friendship to the romantic relationship we'd eventually developed. It felt so much easier, and some of the guilt I'd experienced due to the inequality of our feelings melted away.

I found myself relieved that Sam and I weren't "together" in Merlotte's Heaven.

It was nice to be on equal footing with my friend again. Really nice.

I exhaled deeply, trying to relax—trying to "feel" what was going on around me, instead of just move through it.

But I still felt numb—almost as if I were watching myself from above, going through all the "right" motions, but not really experiencing any of them.

Maybe that's what Heaven—or, at least, Merlotte's Heaven—felt like?

Maybe the "disconnect" was needed in order to ensure that no one felt pain?

I would have likely gotten lost in my existential musings—if I hadn't noticed the calendar behind the bar. Sam crossed off the days, so it was easy to tell the date: June 12, 2004.

I frowned. I knew that date well! Too well! It was the day I'd met Bill Compton.

I stared at the calendar. "In two and a half years, I'm going to kill myself," I thought.

Mr. Cataliades's words came back to me in a rush.

"I will be instructing Mr. Northman to make a very precise wish regarding your safety and well-being. What the wish will do for you exactly—I can only hope. However, I am confident enough in the vampire's love to set you free."

I gasped.

"But I cannot travel back in time," he'd also said.

"Back in time," I muttered, feeling a little faint.

"Sookie?" Sam asked, seeing me teetering on suddenly unstable legs.

Sam gripped my arms firmly and stabilized me—just as I heard the bell above the door signaling a new customer. I used my telepathy to probe the newcomer: a void.

"Shit," I muttered.

"Cher?" Sam said, his voice laced with concern.

"Um—Sam—I'm sorry, but I'm a little dizzy. I was so busy today I forgot to eat," I told my boss, making sure I kept my back to the door. "Do you mind if I take my break now and—um—eat and rest in your office. I promise I'll be okay once I've had a bite."

Sam's face softened even as his nose seemed to activate. He glanced toward the door and looked momentarily worried as he registered that Merlotte's had just gotten its first vampire customer.

Then he looked back at me. "Sure, cher. I'll have Terry bring you back some food. A burger Lafayette?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks. That'd be perfect."

I didn't need to look back toward the entrance to know that Bill Compton was looking at me.

The question was—what was I going to do about it?


	7. Darkness Had Turned to Gray

Chapter 07: Darkness Has Turned to Gray

Eric had had a psychic once. That was the thought going through my mind as I dialed Fangtasia's number.

If he believed in those, could he believe the possibility that I was a time traveler?

"Fangtasia—the bar with bite," a bored-sounding voice greeted.

Pam.

I smiled at the sound! I couldn't help myself. There was no way in Hell that Pam would ever be in Merlotte's Heaven—or any Heaven!

For the first time, I let a hopeful thought run free into my mind: Had the cluviel dor sent me back to the past? To change things? To make amends?

Was I still alive?

I took a deep breath, knowing I would need to tread carefully with the vampiress.

"I have a message for Eric Northman," I said, trying to sound confident.

"No—he doesn't sleep in a coffin. Unless the occasion calls for it," she said drolly.

"I didn't say that I had an asinine question for him," I stated tartly, though I was trying to keep my voice low. I'd never quite determined just how good Bill's hearing was.

Pam's laughter made me smile wider. "What's your message then? Are you wantin' to know if he's got time to bite you tonight?" she added sarcastically, affecting a thick Southern accent.

I scoffed and shook my head. "Eric bites only what he can tolerate," I returned.

"True enough," Pam responded, sounding slightly intrigued.

I took another deep breath. "Tell him that a vampire named Bill Compton has just walked into Merlotte's, a bar in Bon Temps."

"Where's that?" she asked.

"Area 5," I whispered. "And I figured that the Sheriff of Area 5 would want to know that a vampire has been sent by the queen to poach in his area."

"Who are you?" Pam asked, suddenly sounding a lot more interested. And a little angry.

"Eric had a psychic once," I whispered before hanging up.

I took a few steadying breaths.

I hadn't lied. I'd just misled. And I really hoped that my words would be enough to convince Eric to make an impromptu trip in my direction.

Terry brought me my burger a few minutes later, and—oddly enough—I found myself suddenly starving.

I saved the raw yellow onions on the burger for last. I blessed Terry for remembering that I liked extra. I recalled that I'd stopped indulging in them after I started dating Bill.

He'd hated the smell of onions!

I belched as I walked back into the bar. I almost laughed as Sam and Bill were the only ones to look in my direction; however, I managed to pretend as if I hadn't just made the "unladylike" sound. After all, I wasn't supposed to know either of them could hear my bodily functions from such a distance.

"Feeling better?" Sam asked me when I approached the bar.

"Much!" I slathered on my "crazy Sookie" grin.

"I took care of your tables while you were on break," Sam relayed.

"Thanks so much," I returned sincerely.

He looked at me funny, inhaled, and frowned. Good—he could smell the onions. I usually brushed my teeth if I ate something during my break.

But I was prepared to get fewer tips because of my "onionness" if it also worked as a vampire deterrent.

I noticed that the Rattrays were gone already. Apparently, Bill had felt no need at all to interact with them since I'd not been in the room, which lent a lot of proof to my theory that he'd glamoured them to attack him.

And then me three nights later.

So that Bill could get his blood into me.

But—then again—from our first moments of interaction (the first time around), I'd behaved in a way that would indicate to Bill that I was "different." Hell—I'd practically gaped and jumped up and down when he'd been silent to me. Thus, to test me for telepathy, the methodical Bill had likely decided at the last minute to use the Rattrays. They were convenient.

But not this time.

I intended to behave differently this time. Whether I was in Heaven, Hell, a dream, or the past—Bill would not be finding out about my telepathy!

I checked on my tables from the back of my section to the front—methodically. When I finally got to Bill, he stared at me as if trying to figure me out.

I smiled broadly, exhaled sharply, and pushed out my chest shamelessly, trying to look like a dumb blonde bimbo—a smelly one. "Can I get you another glass of wine?" I asked, wondering why Sam hadn't offered Bill a TrueBlood before remembering that the bit we'd gotten after the Great Revelation had expired about a month before Bill showed up.

"No thank you," he said, glancing at the full glass of wine in front of him.

"How 'bout somethin' to eat?" I offered as if ignorant of what he was. Taking a cue from Pam, I also exaggerated my accent for effect. "Um—we ain't got a lot that'll go with your wine, Mister, but maybe cheese fries?" I suggested.

I got a slight feeling of pleasure as Bill blanched at the thought.

"I hear wine and cheese pair real well," I went on. "How 'bout nachos? We got some jarred jalapeños that we can put on 'em"

"Just bring me the check," he said as if nauseated—before catching my eye. "And you will come out to the parking lot to visit with me in ten minutes time," he added in a low voice.

"The check and a visit," I nodded mindlessly doing my best impression of a glamour "victim."

I hurried off, shaking my head as if shaking myself out of a daze. I knew Bill would be watching me. But I also knew that he'd think that his glamour had worked.

I just hoped that the supposed gentleman wouldn't bite me—wouldn't notice that I smelled different from other humans. And I also hoped that I could keep my emotions in check. Luckily, even though I felt like I was in the middle of the Sixth Sense—seeing dead people (who were not vampires)—I made myself feel the numbness I'd been carrying with me since the previous day.

Or—the future day.

However one wanted to look at it.

I knew things would be even more difficult once Eric showed up—if he showed up. I almost hoped that he would send Pam, but—knowing him—he'd want an excuse to get away from the boredom of the vermin.

I just had to mentally prepare myself not to jump into his arms the moment I saw him.

EIGHT MINUTES LATER

I'd found the opportunity to eat several more rings of raw onions since Bill had left the restaurant. And a few jalapeños too.

Trying to keep my wits about me, I'd kept a close eye on the clock.

Exactly ten minutes after Bill had ordered me to do so, I stepped out of the back door and into the parking lot as if I were in a stupor.

My shields were all the way down, and—thank God—the Rattrays were nowhere to be found. But I sensed a void. Still, I showed no reaction as Bill came up to me suddenly.

"You are Sookie Stackhouse," he said, looking me in the eye, once again "capturing me" with his glamour.

I nodded obediently. "Uh-huh."

"Speak with words," he ordered impatiently.

Asshole!

"Yes," I said, exhaling heavily. "I'm Sookie."

He frowned, clearly noticing the onions and jalapeños. Served the asshole right!

"You are the cousin of Hadley Delahoussaye?" he asked, sounding bored.

Again I nodded in affirmation. "Yes."

"You will answer 'yes sir' or 'no sir,'" he ordered superiorly.

Huge! Asshole!

I supposed I'd not noticed this on the night I'd originally met him because he was interested in me and, therefore, put on his Southern charm for me. Now I knew how he treated "normal" people.

"Yes sir," I said dreamily.

"Hadley has conveyed that you can read thoughts. Can you?" he asked.

"Conveyed?" I asked, furrowing my brow as if I didn't understand the word.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Can you read my thoughts, Miss Stackhouse?"

"No sir," I said truthfully, even as I felt another void approaching. I used all of my strength to keep my emotions in check.

A thud signaled Eric's landing.

"Why—if it isn't Bill Compton!" the Viking enthused, looking at Bill and then at me.

I felt my heart quickening. Fuck!

Calm. I needed to stay calm.

Bill looked at me suspiciously, so I pretended to be the stereotypical human amazed by vampire abilities.

"You flew!" I said dumbly—dumbfounded. "That's not possible."

"No—it is not," Bill said, catching my eye again.

"It's not," I agreed, "taken in" by his glamour once more. "Are you Superman?" I added, dreamily looking at Eric.

The vampire chuckled, and the sound of it seemed to warm the world. However, I somehow managed to not respond to Eric's voice—deep, disturbing, and beautiful as it was.

"He is not Superman," Bill said insistently, after he—once again—caught my eye.

"That is a matter of opinion," Eric smirked.

Luckily, I'd done a good enough job of getting my emotions in check, or Eric's presence was distracting Bill. Either way, the younger vampire no longer seemed suspicious of me.

The older one just looked amused.

"Don't tell me that you are attempting to feed on this poor woman, Billy Boy," Eric said facetiously. "And against her will too? You know that it is illegal to feed without consent these days," the Viking added with a smirk that I had to try hard not to smile at.

"I am on assignment for the queen," Bill said gruffly.

"What assignment would send you to my area without my knowledge of it?" Eric asked coolly.

Thankfully, the two vampires were now ignoring me.

Bill considered what he wanted to say for a few moments, and—when he did speak—it was to protest his "innocence."

Some things never changed.

"Queen Sophie-Anne has a pet named Hadley," Bill informed.

"I am aware of her," Eric nodded. "The queen is extremely selfish when it comes to sharing her, however."

"I know," Bill agreed flatly.

I held back my cringe—with difficulty. Thinking of Hadley with Bill was—yuck! Thinking of Hadley with Eric was—well—unthinkable!

"Hadley—as it turns out—is quite a storyteller," Bill relayed.

"Oh?" Eric asked.

Bill nodded. "One of her stories was that she had a telepathic cousin—a young woman named Sookie Stackhouse."

"Not her?!" Eric chuckled, not even looking at me. I will admit that his reaction hurt a little.

But—then again—I did smell like onions.

And jalapeños.

And the lemons I'd just cut—so that I would send the message: "NOT A FAIRY!"

Rather than the signal that I was "vampire-nip."

I hoped.

"Yes," Bill responded. "Her," he said somewhat distastefully.

"And the queen sent you to assess the situation?" Eric asked dispassionately—too dispassionately.

Apparently Bill thought so too; in my estimation, he was wise to look a little afraid.

"I'm sure she didn't mean to circumvent your authority," Bill replied quickly. "If the girl proved promising, I was to assert a claim on a descendant's home in the area and pretend to be mainstreaming in order to conduct further reconnaissance. I would have reported to you at that point—of course."

Eric didn't look at Bill so much as he studied him.

Bill wasn't up for the test.

He shifted on his feet uncomfortably and looked guilty as Hell!

"Of course. So—how goes your assessment?" the Viking asked.

"The girl smells better than the norm—despite stinking of grease, liquor, and horrific human food. But—then again—Hadley smells good too," Bill commented. "However, I've seen no reason to suspect she is anything but ordinary. Under glamour, she just told me that she didn't read minds."

"Do you mind if I try questioning her?" Eric asked.

My heart skipped a beat.

I was glad that Bill didn't seem to notice.

"Of course," Bill said with a bow. "I'm sure the queen would value your appraisal."

Eric turned to me, and I quickly became locked in his eyes.

He'd never needed glamour to draw in my attention, after all.

"Can you read my thoughts?" he asked me.

"No," I responded.

"Can you read anyone's thoughts?" he followed up. Clever vampire.

I'd already rehearsed my answer—as I'd eaten my Lafayette burger. They really were better when made with real beef.

"Just Hadley's," I responded, giggling as if I were stoned, "when we were kids."

"What do you mean?" Eric probed.

"Jason and me used to play tricks on her," I said. "He'd find out stuff about her—secrets—and I'd pretend I could hear them from her head. She was real mean to me, so it was fun to mess with her."

Bill rolled his eyes. "I figured this fucking trip would all be for nothing," he said with frustration. "Hadley is a fucking simpleton."

"But a lovely one," Eric observed. Again, I barely avoided cringing.

Bill's fangs clicked downward. "I think I will try this human's blood—before I leave—so that the evening is not a complete waste," he added.

I wondered if the cluviel dor—or the rules of my "new life"—or the regulations of Merlotte's Heaven—had kicked in when Sam came outside.

"What the fuck is goin' on out here?" the shifter demanded with a growl, his eyes flashing to yellow.

"Just a little questioning," Eric responded smoothly.

"Sook?" Sam asked concerned. I pretended to still be glamoured, of course.

Once again, I thanked God for the overall feeling of numbness that was still lingering in my body—in my soul. The surreal nature of my experience helped too—as did my years of practicing the art of "non-reaction."

"She is fine. Untasted," Eric assured, though with a bit of regret in his tone.

"What is going on here?" Sam asked again.

"Mr. Compton was sent to determine whether Sookie was special," Eric answered calmly.

"Is she?" Bill asked Sam, obviously trying to trap the shifter with his glamour.

"Fuck you," Sam told the younger vampire, much to Eric's amusement.

Bill growled.

"Don't let it bother you," Eric laughed. "Shifters are notoriously difficult to glamour."

"I will return to the queen's court tonight," Bill practically pouted.

Eric nodded to him. "Please let Sophie-Anne know that I would be happy to help her in any matter."

"You could help me with one matter," Bill said suddenly—as if a light bulb had been turned on in his head.

Uh-Oh.

"What's that?" Eric asked.

"How did you know I was here?" Bill asked suspiciously.

Uh-Oh.

"I didn't know," Eric responded immediately—smoothly. "I knew only that there was a vampire here—thanks to the shifter," he added, motioning toward Sam. "I have many contacts that keep me fully-informed of the goings-on in my area," the Viking added with just a touch of menace in his tone.

Eric had lied. I knew that. Sam knew that.

Bill clearly didn't, however. I found myself wondering how often Bill had been fooled in his vampire life.

Honestly, I intended to be angry at Bill—as soon as I could truly "feel" again. After all, he was a rude asshole, disinterested in me—except that he wanted to taste me. Thinking back, I realized that I'd given myself completely away the first time we'd met.

Betraying how captivated I was by his silent mind.

Acting like a giddy fangirl.

Saving Bill—while wielding a chain—as if I was some kind of redneck superhero.

Bill would have deduced that I was telepathic right away. This time around, I knew that Bill couldn't—wouldn't—ever be trusted with that knowledge.

"You ought to release her from your glamour," Eric told Bill.

Eric had already "freed me" from his own glamour, even as I'd been lost in my thoughts. But—honestly—being spaced out only helped me to appear unaffected by the Viking I loved.

Win-win situation.

Bill released me with a scoff, "instructed" that I was merely on a "break from my duties," and then took off into the night.

"Leave us for a moment," Eric told Sam, after he easily glamoured the shifter.

I watched Sam with surprise as he left robotically.

"I didn't know you could do that," I whispered to Eric as soon as Sam was inside.

His eyebrow rose sharply. "I've never met a shifter or a human who could resist my glamour," he said playfully.

God—I'd missed this side of him. The one that was full of mischief—full of the joie de vivre.

Full of shit.

"You still haven't," I whispered.

He stepped toward me, looking down into my eyes. "You cannot be glamoured. What are you?" he asked with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

"I'm a waitress," I returned somewhat playfully, allowing myself to enjoy being in Eric's presence again.

I'd missed him so much.

"Are you a psychic?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No."

"Are you the person Pam spoke to on the phone earlier?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Are you a telepath—as Bill thought you might be?"

I'd already decided that I needed to throw my lot in with Eric—to tell him the truth about "me." If I truly had traveled in time, Eric had been responsible for my voyage. Moreover, I'd poisoned myself, so it was quite possible that Eric's wish and the cluviel dor had—quite literally—saved my life. Saved me from myself.

So I owed him my life.

Again.

Plus—honestly—even if I were crazy or dead, it didn't matter. I was just glad to have so many people back! I couldn't even fathom how I was going to react when I saw Gran!

In truth, seeing Eric made me want to crawl out of my skin—and crawl into his skin! But I had to keep reminding myself that he didn't know me.

So—yes. I was going to tell Eric that I was a telepath. In fact, I planned to tell him everything and then let him decide for himself if I was insane or not.

But I found that I could say only one thing as I looked up into his impossibly blue eyes—eyes I'd thought I would never see again.

"I love you, Eric."


	8. Flashback, Warm Nights

Chapter 08: Flashback, Warm Nights

JUNE 12, 2004, 11:14 P.M.

ERIC POV

I had had a psychic once. One-fourth shifter, one-fourth witch, one-fourth human, one-fourth demon.

She'd smelled horrible! But she'd been a valuable and valued member of my inner circle for years.

The girl in front of me smelled infinitely better than that psychic had—despite the onions, peppers, and lemons she had seemingly bathed in.

"You—love me?" I asked incredulously.

"Um." She bit her lip enticingly. "It's a long story. Very, very long," she added, still biting.

"Tell me," I coaxed taking another step toward her.

"I will. I promise," she whispered, looking up at me—not cowering at my proximity.

Not at all.

I found myself intrigued by her, and I was seldom intrigued by anything anymore.

Her mood changed, however, as a redneck exited the bar.

"You okay out here, cher?" the man asked in a thick Cajun accent, which sounded somehow artificial to my ears.

Sookie immediately tensed.

"That vamp ain't botherin' you, is he?" the human asked.

I spared him a glance. Most humans couldn't peg vampires for what they were right away—not unless they'd been around us quite a bit.

Or they'd studied us.

Sookie literally plastered a smile on her face. "I'm as right as rain, René," she said, turning to speak to him. "Mr. Northman here was so kind as to make sure that that other vampire who came in here tonight won't be comin' back. And now he's leavin' too—right?" she asked me—begging me to agree with her eyes as she turned back toward me.

"Absolutely," I nodded toward the redneck. "I was just making sure that other one wouldn't be comin' back," I added, affecting the local accent.

"Well—no offense, Mister—but we don't need no vamps 'round here messin' with our innocent women," René said, glaring threateningly.

The problem was that he was glaring murderously at Sookie's back, not at me.

The bigger problem was that I didn't like the idea of anyone looking at the strange woman like that.

"I assure you; I am not here to 'mess,'" I responded.

By then, Sookie had turned squarely toward me. Her eyes were pensive. She was practically gnawing on her lower lip.

She spoke so softly that it wouldn't have even been considered a whisper.

Still, I had no problem hearing her.

"René is a serial killer. He goes after women who associate with vampires. He means to kill a woman tonight—someone who had a vampire bite. Her name is Maudette Pickens," Sookie whispered desperately. "And now he's thinking about adding me to his list of victims. Will you help?"

After quickly trying to decipher the enigma of the woman in front of me—and somehow recognizing that there would never be anything "quick" about her—I sped to René.

Later—the deciphering would come later.

After I dealt with the killer.

"You have killed people?" I asked the man, once I had captured him with my glamour. It was difficult to hold onto his mind, however, for René was clearly mad—what humans now called "criminally insane." Indeed, due to the duality I found in his mind, glamouring him would take finesse similar to glamouring a shifter or a Were.

Which meant it was nothing I couldn't handle.

"Yes," he said.

"Whom have you killed? How many?" I asked.

"Three," he replied. "My sister, Cindy, and two other women who fucked vamps," he added angrily.

"Do you believe in God?" I probed, changing my tactics a bit so that I could more easily maintain my influence over him.

"God ain't never done much for me," he responded bitterly.

"The devil then? Do you believe in him?" I asked.

René looked frightened, but nodded vigorously. "Yeah. He comes into my dreams."

"You can escape him by telling the police what you've done," I enticed.

"But I'll get locked up," he frowned.

"Perhaps, but you'd be a hero in jail," I said with a benign smile. "Plus, I bet the people in this town will celebrate your deeds. After all, you were just tryin' to protect those girls from vamps," I added, my Southern drawl thick.

"But you're a vampire," he said.

"Nope. I'm not. I'm as human as they come—just a concerned citizen like yourself," I corrected. "I ran off the vampire who came into Merlotte's. And now I'm just keeping Sookie company during her break. We wouldn't want her to be left alone—right? She might be hurt by one of them damned blood-suckers. And we don't want anyone else hurt—do we? Why—it's only when heroes like you come forward and tell of their deeds that others will join the fight!"

René nodded dumbly. "Right. You're right."

"So—you should talk about the things you've done," I reiterated, "so that you can get your just reward. In fact, I bet the local law enforcement would be mighty grateful that you've been helping them keep the area pure and free of vamp lovers!"

"Andy and Bud are inside," he informed. "Should I tell them?"

I glanced at Sookie, who was nodding.

"Yes sir," I said with an encouraging smile. "I'm sure they'll be grateful to hear anything you have to say on the matter! And mighty proud too!"

René frowned. "But I was wantin' to get Maudette tonight." He growled. "That bitch had bite marks on her. Maybe I should wait to tell until after she's been punished."

I didn't need Sookie's prompting to make up a fabrication to feed to the sociopath. I was enjoying being creative.

"Poor Maudette was attacked by one of 'em godless vamps," I said, barely hiding my smirk before flashing a wink in Sookie's direction.

"Really? Attacked?" René asked. "I'd heard that she was a fangbanger—a willin' whore to them blood-suckers."

"Who'd ya hear that from?" I asked, acting affronted.

"Jason Stackhouse," René said, gesturing slightly toward Sookie.

The waitress rolled her eyes.

"Well—you know him," I said enigmatically—since I didn't know the man, but could make a few guesses based upon Sookie's reaction. "Be sure you tell Andy and Bud about your plans for Maudette too—just in case. The more details you give, the better help you'll be to them—and to everyone in town!"

His chest puffed up with pride, René nodded and then went inside.

I didn't have time to say a single word before Sookie was in my arms—hugging me tightly.

I tried to recall the last time I'd "hugged" anyone.

Perhaps my human mother?

"Thank you," Sookie said, sniffling. "You just saved Gran. And Maudette and Dawn. And Tina, too!"

I frowned down at her.

"And you didn't even kill him. You sent him to the human authorities," she added.

"It's better for my kind of his kind are exposed," I told her.

She smiled up at me. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you, Eric."

The way she spoke made it seem as if she'd had a lot of opportunities to show doubt, but that was impossible.

"How about we meet at your house? Tomorrow night? Ten minutes after sunset so that you can get your shower and a quick bag of blood for breakfast?" she suggested.

"What?" I responded, confused.

"I'll come to you tomorrow—right after first dark," she offered.

"To my house?"

She nodded.

"How do you know where I live?" I asked, wondering if I would have to kill Bobby.

"You've invited me before. Um—change your codes if it makes you feel better though," she added in a whisper. "I'll wait outside the house till you get up."

"Which house?" I asked suspiciously.

"Change your codes at all of your houses if you want," she said. "But I was talkin' about your main house—where you keep that paintin' you did of your ship."

There was no way she would know about that unless she was some kind of witch or seer. I contemplated killing her right then and there.

My fangs slipped down.

But I did not harm her.

"One hour after sundown, I will meet you at your residence," I said firmly.

Sookie Stackhouse giggled and looked at me with bright, grateful, happy eyes—as if someone had just saved her from a monster.

As if I wasn't a monster.

"Okay. Gran and I live in the old farmhouse on Hummingbird Lane. Don't worry. There's only two houses on the street, so it'll be easy to find us. Uh—Gran's old-fashioned, though, so bring flowers. Her favorites are lilies—pink ones."

At that she leaned up and kissed my cheek.

Kissed. My. Cheek.

I doubted that I'd ever been more surprised by anything.

Flowers? Did Sookie think I was going to be courting her? Or her grandmother!? Was she more insane than René? She had to be—with her "I love you" and her casual kiss and her total lack of fear of me!

I watched the enigma as she turned away from me and hurried back into what was—sadly—probably one of the nicer establishments in her little town.

I could already hear the serial killer confessing his crimes to the town's law enforcement agents. However, I didn't spare him much thought as I took to the air. Sookie Stackhouse intrigued me, but—given what she seemed to know about me, including the location of at least one of my homes—I was wary of her. For this reason, I texted Pam, telling her that she should shelter somewhere completely random and unknown that night—preferably in the dirt. I planned to do the same until I understood what the petite blond woman was—and what she wanted.

But—if understanding wasn't to be had—I would kill her.

Because I was a thorough vampire—unlike some—I tracked Bill Compton's scent to Hummingbird Lane, which was exactly where Sookie Stackhouse said she lived.

My fangs were down, and I was ready—anxious even—to kill Compton. He always had been an annoying prick.

However, it turned out that he wasn't on Hummingbird Lane to cause any problems. Hovering well above so that Compton wouldn't pick up my scent, I saw him removing suitcases from the rundown residence across the cemetery from the home that clearly belonged to Sookie and an older woman.

The "Gran" who liked flowers—no doubt.

Pink lilies.

Likely, the dilapidated home was the one Bill had been ready to assert a claim over if he'd found Sookie to be promising.

I eavesdropped as Compton called the queen to report that Sookie wasn't what Hadley had suggested. He told her that I had shown up, and—though I was too far away to hear her end of the conversation—I could tell that Sophie-Anne was displeased that I'd discovered that she had been trying to go around me to poach in my own area!

Good! That just might keep her from trying to fuck with me for the foreseeable future!

Compton assured the queen that he'd been more than up to the task of appeasing me. He said that he'd "easily" convinced me that no disrespect was intended and that I would have been informed immediately if Sookie Stackhouse had turned out to be a mind reader. Indeed, he actually spun the situation into his favor by claiming that—since I was there and had also glamoured Sookie—the diagnosis of her "normalcy" had been confirmed for the queen.

I had to admit that Bill was good at spinning bullshit.

From what I'd heard, he and his maker had certainly created enough of it for him to have had plenty of practice over the years.

Compton completed the call by saying that he would be returning to court that night—unless the queen wanted him to follow up with the grandmother or the brother. Clearly, Sophie-Anne didn't want to bother.

Lazy and unimaginative—that was my queen!

I shook my head. I figured that one day her shortsightedness or greed would cost her. I just hoped that I wouldn't be collateral damage when it did.

I considered my queen for a moment. In truth, I didn't mind her that much. Her biggest flaw was vanity—not too bad when compared with other rulers. When she was in a position of strength, she was actually a decent ruler; however—because of the downturn in the economy—she seemed perpetually short of State funds. I knew that her personal accounts were still quite healthy, but she seemed unwilling to tap into them. It was rumored that she was considering a marriage with another monarch to secure her position. I just hoped that she chose wisely, but it was very possible that she'd fuck things up if she was "too desperate."

Sophie-Anne had likely viewed the prospect of a telepath as a way to increase her power and position during any marriage negotiations she found herself in. Such a state asset would have undoubtedly attracted better suitors or larger "dowries" for her. She would have surmised that I would have asserted the right to be the telepath's "handler"—which would have cost the queen some prestige—if I had found Sookie. Going around me had been a calculated risk for the queen, one that I really couldn't blame her for.

I could blame her for sending an idiot like Compton, however.

Sadly, I doubted that Sophie-Anne would have focused upon how a telepath could have been a great asset to augment her own security if—and only if—she were kept a secret. I could only imagine how the queen would have paraded Sookie Stackhouse (if she was—indeed—a telepath) around like a common pet.

Likely, the telepath would have been forced to bond with Andre.

Used for her blood.

Perhaps, coerced into sexual acts.

I cringed at that thought.

Inexplicably cringed.

I didn't know Sookie Stackhouse. And—though intrigued—I was also disconcerted by her. Still, I didn't like the thought of her being tied to one such as Andre. And Andre wasn't really even that bad—all things considered!

He likely wouldn't have even "forced" her to have sex, though he certainly wasn't above using glamour. I frowned. When Sookie showed imperviousness to his glamour, however, Andre would have probably manipulated and blackmailed her into doing his bidding. Anyone she cared for would have been threatened.

I growled.

But then stopped myself with a question.

Why did the thought of Andre taking a pet and bending her to his will concern me at all? Just because I didn't enjoy routinely taking pets didn't mean that I begrudged vampires who did.

Hell! I'd kept several "Renfields" in my time—over-glamoured humans whom I needed to do my bidding and protect my life during the daylight hours. They'd always been practically useless when I was done with them—as Bobby would become in a decade or so, unless I fired him before his mind became Swiss cheese. Too much glamouring eventually affected a human's ability to be fully self-sufficient.

In extreme cases, they became worse than Ginger.

Imagining Sookie Stackhouse like that disturbed me.

But considering that she might be forced to "break" in more immediate and profound ways because she couldn't be glamoured was a worse thought.

I just didn't know why.

SOOKIE POV

I kept my shields down as I drove my rickety yellow car home when my shift finally ended.

I could hardly acknowledge my feelings of nostalgia as the car jolted and lurched under me. Sigebert had "killed" the car during Life 1 (which I was now calling my previous existence), but I planned to keep the old rust-bucket well away from him if possible in Life 2.

A part of me—a large part—had wanted to bolt out of Merlotte's as soon as I let myself truly believe that Gran would be waiting at home.

Still alive.

But I didn't want my reunion with Gran to be tainted by her worry for me, so I'd finished my shift. And I was determined to pretend like everything was "normal" when I saw Gran. I would allow myself to weep in the shower later on—if I found the capacity for tears again.

In truth—despite seeing Bill and Eric—I still felt mostly numb, as if the world I was currently "living" in wasn't real. I worried that I was trapped in a dream of some kind—terrified that I would wake up to the harsh reality of an existence with Felipe de Castro at any moment.

Worried that—if I allowed myself to be happy for even a second—the "nice" world I'd found myself in would disappear.

After all, Sookie Stackhouse didn't deserve a happy world.

Of course, maybe I was in Hell—where all my wishes would seem to come true only so that they could be stripped away—again and again.

In Greek mythology, which had fascinated me since I found an old book of Gran's on the topic, Sisyphus had been fated to forever roll a boulder up a hill—only to watch it roll down again. My worst fear was that the state I found myself in now was my own personal "boulder," and that I would be forced to watch everyone die again and again. But—for now—I was not going to let myself dwell on that horrible possibility.

On the other hand, if I was in Heaven or if the cluviel dor had saved me, I aimed to make the best of every moment of Life 2. Given the "start time" of my "new world," almost everything I had a reason to feel guilty about in Life 1 had disappeared.

And even if I woke up in Hell with everyone dead—even if I was like Sisyphus—I was determined to keep trying to change fate. I thought about the movie Groundhog Day and how Bill Murray had eventually transformed himself into a better man. Indeed—as soon as "fate" had found him worthy—he was allowed to escape his personal Hell. In fact, his Hell actually became Heaven to him.

Whether I was in Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory didn't matter when I saw the light on in the living room as I slowly drove down the heavily-pitted driveway.

Whether I was a time traveler, trapped in a dream, or banging my head against a padded wall in an insane asylum didn't matter.

Nothing mattered except the fact that Gran's mind was now in my range.

Hers was the only mind I'd ever missed.

I didn't move for a long time after I'd parked. So as not to worry Gran, I wiped away tears that proved I could still cry.

I sat still—afraid to make a single noise—and just enjoyed listening to Gran thinking about the heroine in her latest romance novel. Apparently, Giselda, who had somehow traveled back in time, was a fool for resisting the handsome Viking, Leif.

I laughed heartily. And I couldn't agree more.

After using several old napkins I'd found in my purse to clean myself up and taking several deep breaths to compose myself, I went into the house. I smiled at the "old" kitchen. After the fire, the repairs had made it more modern, but I'd love it less for its newness.

I inhaled deeply. Peach cobbler.

I bent down to stroke Tina's fur as the feline greeted me. Automatically, I refilled her water and food bowls as she purred in thanks.

And then I went into the living room so that I could see the face I'd missed so much—so that I could see the woman who had been the first person to make me feel truly loved.

Gran smiled up at me as I entered the room, her reading glasses perched on her nose.

"Did you have a good night at work, dear?" she asked me.

The lump in my throat was the size of Texas, so I could only nod.

"You seem upset," Gran said perceptively, even as she closed her book onto her old ribbon bookmark.

"Just tired," I managed. "And—uh—excited."

"Hmm?" Gran hummed her question.

"I met two vampires tonight," I said, trying to keep myself from focusing on my feelings.

"Really?" she asked with interest, sitting forward in her chair. She had been so excited when they'd "come out."

"Living history"—she'd called them.

"Yes. And one will be calling here tomorrow night—an hour after sunset," I smiled at her.

Actually, I'd spoken too soon when it came to volunteering to meet with Eric so close to sundown the next night. I'd forgotten that I was scheduled to work until close (though I figured that I could be forgiven for not remembering a schedule from two and a half years in the past).

Luckily—in the midst of Arlene's meltdown over René's confession—the whole schedule had gotten shifted around. Arlene had been slated to open the next morning, so I agreed to do that. Dawn agreed to take my nightshift (since the tips were better at night). And Sam finally got into his stash of applications. Holly Cleary's was among them, and I "lied" like a dog (no offense to Sam), saying that I knew her and thought she'd be great!

Actually, was I really lying? I did know Holly. And she was an excellent waitress. And Danielle Gray had been trying to get Sam to hire her for a while since they were good friends. Sadly, Danielle wasn't that good of a waitress, which had been why Sam had passed over Holly before.

But when I offered to stay until 6:00 p.m. the next day in order to train Holly, Sam gave her a call. I was glad about it.

Life 1's Holly had desperately needed a steady income to take care of her kids.

"You have a date with a vampire?" Gran asked excitedly, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Sort of," I said.

"Sort of?" she asked.

"Um—yeah—I guess I do have a date with him," I said, hating to give Gran false hope, but figuring that explaining my interaction with the vampire as a date would be easier for everyone involved.

She bounced a little in her seat. "Is he handsome?"

"Very," I responded truthfully.

"Do you think he was in Louisiana during the Civil War era?" she asked.

"Sorry, Gran. But he was somewhere else—Russia I think," I shared. "But he was an honest to God Viking!" I motioned down to her book; on the cover was a tall, blond, muscular Nordic-looking piece of beef. "Better looking than him," I giggled.

Gran looked down at the book with a gaping mouth. "Really?" She blushed.

I nodded and smiled at her, having difficulty keeping my tears of happiness at bay. "Of course, there's lots I don't know about Eric."

Still looking at the book's cover, Gran fanned herself and then insisted that she needed to get to bed so that she could make sure the house was sparkling for "our" gentleman caller.

I regretted having to work at all, but I determined to get up early and help Gran clean before I had to go into work at 10:00 a.m.

I gave Gran a quick hug, and—though I wanted to keep her in my arms forever—I let her go before she'd feel any concern for me.

Before she'd know that my eyes were welling up with tears.

After Gran shut her bedroom door, I made a beeline to my "old" room. As soon as I closed the door, I grinned—even as I "leaked."

As Pam would say.

I placed both hands over my mouth to stop my sobs from being loud enough for Gran to hear them.

I had moved into Gran's room after she'd died because I knew that was what I'd been expected to do—as the new "matriarch" of the house. My room had become Octavia's room for a while. And then Claude had stayed in it. But it was nice to have my old room back. It was nice to see the cheery yellow comforter on the full-sized bed.

I pulled a flannel nightgown and a pair of panties from my old dresser and hurried to my bathroom.

I turned on the water and quickly got into the shower.

And, amidst the sound and the drops, I finally let myself weep openly and loudly.

For joy.

It felt good.

So good.


	9. You're Calling to Me

Chapter 09: You're Calling to Me

SOOKIE POV, CONTINUED

Exactly an hour after sunset, Eric Northman knocked on the old farmhouse door. I'd arrived home from training Holly later than I'd wanted, so I was still getting dressed.

Of course, Gran wouldn't have let me greet Eric at the door anyway.

As "tradition" called for when "a new gentleman came a callin'," Gran answered the door. In fact, even if I had been ready, I'd already been instructed to linger upstairs for a few minutes after Eric's arrival so that I could "make a memorable entrance"—as Gran put it. Of course, I "watched" Gran's interaction with the vampire by eavesdropping on her thoughts.

I couldn't help but to admire how Eric looked—so beautiful and alluring. So much more carefree than the last time I'd seen him.

Gran clearly liked what she saw, too! In fact, her eyes dragged up his body, assessing and appreciating the vampire.

Black boots. Dark blue jeans that fit so well they were likely illegal in some countries. A blood-red V-neck T-shirt. His long, golden hair neatly pulled into a low ponytail.

Gran's thoughts about being "old but not too old to appreciate a good-looking hunk of Viking" were amusing to say the least.

Eric's blue eyes sparkled as he presented Gran with a bouquet of flowers.

Pink lilies.

She giggled like a schoolgirl as she showed him into the living room and offered him a TrueBlood. He accepted immediately—even though I knew how much he hated the stuff.

As I quickly tied my shoes, I continued to listen in as Gran broached the subject of Eric's origins—a faux pas when it came to vampires. I had a moment of panic as I worried that Eric might harm her. After all, he had no reason to behave with civility.

He didn't know me. He didn't know Gran.

However, I should never have doubted him—either the first time I'd known him or this time.

I'd always had the impression that Eric was prone to brutality, but it became clear to me now that he actually wasn't. Eric was prone to honor.

He spoke with Gran comfortably—charmingly.

I scoffed at myself as I realized just how jaded I'd been toward Eric from the start—at least, from my "first" start. I was determined that my "second" start with him would be different.

I supposed that Bill could be blamed for a part of that jadedness. He'd certainly indicated—more than once—that Eric was dangerous. And, of course, the Viking was dangerous. But Bill had implied that Eric posed a clear threat to me—that he wanted to own me. That he'd hurt me in some way.

Eric—with all his sexual innuendos and "claiming" talk—hadn't helped his cause. And my shortsightedness certainly hadn't helped either. It hadn't been until after I'd lost Eric that I realized that "claiming" and "owning" were different things altogether. Sophie-Anne had wanted to own me. So, too, had Victor and de Castro.

Eric had simply wanted to assert something he believed was true—intrinsic: that I belonged to him.

With him.

Not by force.

But by mutual need, desire, and affection.

Otherwise, Eric would never have bothered with me. He would have merely drained me.

Again—hindsight made the world so clear.

The truth was that Eric Northman could be a highhanded, manipulative jerk at times. He'd asked me to suck the silver from his body in Dallas, after all. However, when I'd initially balked at the idea, he'd quickly offered an alternative—getting a knife to cut out the bullet. I hadn't run for the knife. Plus, Eric shouldn't have needed to tell me anything about taking his blood anyway. By then, I'd already taken Bill's blood more than once. I knew enough to know that it affected my senses and my feelings to a certain extent.

Yes, I could have run to the kitchen—a mere fifteen feet away; I could have taken a knife from the butcher's block. I could have cut the silver from Eric's body. But I hadn't done that. Still—I'd managed to talk myself into believing that the bullet-sucking moment was a sure sign of Eric's manipulation: his first step in making me his by using his blood.

And maybe it had been. And maybe Eric was highhanded and manipulative. He certainly was opportunistic. But—just as certainly—he'd saved my life in Dallas.

And I'd kept the bullet. Part of me had wanted him—even back then.

The completion of our bond had been another black mark against Eric in my book. I'd told myself that he'd taken advantage of the situation by presenting himself as the lesser of two evils.

But he hadn't been any kind of evil at all in Rhodes!

Hindsight now told me that Eric had seen the completion of our bond as an opportunity to better protect me—not as a chance to control me. After all, when had he actually tried to control me? I'd been so fearful that my emotions weren't really my own that I'd failed to recognize that—if Eric had been controlling me—I wouldn't have been resisting him at every turn.

Through our bond, Eric had tried to comfort me. He'd attempted to use it to help me to understand his affection for me—to understand him. He'd used it to warn or caution me when a situation was dangerous. But he'd never tried to force me to do—or feel—anything against my will!

And—again, thanks to hindsight—I now realized that his support in our bond had kept me alive when I'd been held by Things 1 & 2.

I'd been so sure that Eric would come for me—despite all the pain Neave and Lochlan had bestowed upon me. Hindsight told me that I'd been so certain because Eric had been with me all along—at least through the bond.

I closed my eyes tightly, remembering how he'd acted as if I'd broken a part of his heart when I'd broken our bond.

When I'd saved Sam's life with the cluviel dor, I'd broken another piece of his heart.

No wonder Eric had begun acting colder toward me!

Self-preservation was a vampire's most fundamental urge, after all. And I'd behaved in such a way that Eric eventually needed to protect himself from me!

Shaking myself from my musings, I finally headed downstairs to "make my entrance." I'd resisted the urge to wear my white dress with red flowers, despite the fact that "all Erics" would likely appreciate that garment.

However, I wanted for everything about this "new" time to be different from before. Thus, I wore a jean skirt and a red camisole with a button down white shirt over it. I'd put on my generic-brand Keds—because I knew that Eric and I would need to do the meat of our talking outside, at least until Gran was sound asleep.

I was met with an amazing sound as I took a step from the stairs toward the living room. Eric and Gran were laughing together. No one laughed like Eric did when he was truly amused by something. It was as if beautiful music grew legs and then skipped about the space that was trying to hold it. I closed my eyes, imagining how Eric's whole face transformed and his spirit shown through his eyes whenever he laughed like that.

I paused for a long moment, having to work hard not to cry as it hit me that the two people I'd loved the most in my life had met—finally. And they liked each other, too! It was a beautiful moment.

Composed—and hoping to stay that way—I stepped into the living room. Eric stood and nodded toward me.

"For me?" I asked of the pink lilies that Gran had already put into her nicest vase and set on the coffee table.

"They're mine," Gran answered possessively—and playfully. It was nice to see her so giddy.

"This is for you," Eric said, pulling a little box from the pocket of his jeans.

I took it with a frown.

"Jewelry?" I asked, biting my tongue to keep myself for telling him that such a gift was inappropriate until he knew me better.

Of course, I already knew him.

"Perhaps," the vampire smirked.

"Open it," Gran urged, more excited than I was.

I chuckled when I saw what was inside the box. Indeed, it was a lovely piece of jewelry, and Eric had likely spent too much on it. But I loved it nonetheless.

It was a pendant on a delicate gold chain.

"A question mark?" Gran asked of the pendant, which was just that—as in the punctuation mark. It was adorned with two turquoise stones.

"An item I found in Victorian London," Eric explained. I gasped at the little piece of history that I'd already taken out of the box.

"I shouldn't accept it," I said for Gran's benefit.

Gran chided me. "Of course you should, but," she looked at Eric sternly, "I'll have you know that my grandbaby is a lady and should be treated as such."

Eric smiled genuinely and bowed a little. "Of course."

Seeming satisfied, Gran looked at me. "Well—put it on," she ordered in an almost chastising way.

I looked up at Eric. "Thank you. It is beautiful."

He was silent for a moment. "It is appropriate, my little enigma."

Gran practically squealed, believing that Eric's gesture was a sign of romance, rather than a literal symbol of all the questions I'm sure he had for me.

I held out the necklace to him and then turned, holding up my hair as I did so—a silent request for him to put the chain on me.

A silent gesture that I trusted him.

Plus, I enjoyed his touch as he secured the necklace.

"Would you like to take a walk?" I asked Eric once I turned back to look at him.

"That sounds lovely," he replied, his eyes intense.

Gran smiled widely and gave me a hug, making sure that we "young people" knew that she was headed for bed and that Eric was welcome back any time.

For his part, Eric took a moment to remind Gran of how "young" he wasn't before taking my hand.

ERIC POV

"Your grandmother truly believes that I'm here to court you," I commented once we were outside of Sookie's home.

"Easier that way," Sookie responded. "Even if it's not true, it'll make her happy to think I'm not a complete recluse."

"Recluse?" I asked, ignoring the fact that the enigma's "even if" had left our current interaction up for interpretation. Maybe the young woman truly was insane enough to believe that I was there for a "social call." Clearly, she didn't recognize or fear the very real possibility that I'd have to kill her by the end of the night. I'd liked the grandmother, however, so I didn't want to have to kill her as well. Hopefully, Adele could be glamoured so that I could remove all memory of me from her mind if I had to dispose of her granddaughter.

However—as I strolled beside Sookie—I realized I didn't want to do that either. My instincts seemed to run more toward protecting the walking and talking question mark.

"I can't date humans," Sookie said in answer to my question. "Their thoughts come in too clearly—overwhelmingly—especially when I touch them."

"You really can read minds," I commented.

She nodded in confirmation. "Humans—yes. Weres and shifters too—but not as easily. Not fairies unless they allow it. Not vampires except on rare occasions. And demons sound like static to me unless they project thoughts into my head," she responded.

"What do you mean that you cannot hear vampires except on rare occasions? How rare?" I asked, turning to look at her so that I would see any signs of deception.

She smiled up at me.

"I know what you're doing," she commented. "You're trying to read my expression so that you'll know if I'm telling the truth—but you saw me bluff Bill. So—no matter what you see—you're going to wonder if I'm tellin' the truth."

"I am much more perceptive than Compton," I stated flatly.

"No doubt," she agreed. "But you can't glamour me, so you won't be one hundred percent sure—unless . . . ."

"Unless?" I asked, feeling my eyebrow rise with the question.

She took a deep breath. "There's a way for you to know I'm telling the truth—with no doubt."

"What way?" I asked, stepping toward her—invading her personal space.

Like before, she stood her ground. In fact, she seemed to move an inch closer to me—as if she were being drawn in.

"If you want, we can exchange blood so you can sense any dishonesty in me. Or you can just take my word for it." She smirked. "I will never lie to you, Eric, though I might not always tell you the whole truth," she added with a giggle.

Her statement sounded like something I would say.

I'd not exchanged my blood with a human since I'd made Pam, yet the thought of doing so with the relative stranger in front of me had an uncontrollable effect on my body. My fangs had extended even before she'd finished her offer. And—as she'd giggled mischievously—my cock had "extended" as well.

I inhaled deeply. Sookie Stackhouse smelled fucking divine! My nostrils flared as I tried to place what her scent reminded me of.

"Sunshine," she smiled as if reading my mind. Despite what she'd said, I still wasn't certain that she couldn't read all of my thoughts. "You've told me before that I smell like sunshine and a certain kind of wildflower that grew near your human home." She sighed and looked up at me with love-filled eyes. "You always did like the way I smelled."

I shook my head and took a step back—in fear. In awe. I wasn't certain which one. "How could you know that? I was still trying to recall what your scent reminded me of when you said that. So you couldn't have gotten it from my mind. Are you a witch?" I accused, taking another step back.

"No," she said with a frown, "but I will tell you about one who's going to be a problem for you soon."

We were quiet for a moment as I studied her. Her face was the picture of sincerity—and affection for me.

It was disconcerting to say the least.

"You speak as if we met well before last night," I broke the silence.

She chuckled. "Actually, we won't meet for more than a week."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She took a deep breath. "You won't believe anything I say to you unless you can confirm that I'm not lying. So?" she asked, holding out her wrist to me.

Offering her blood.

My fangs quite literally ached for it.

"What if I want to drink from somewhere else?" I leered.

"Uh-uh. Not this time, buddy. You wrist. Me wrist. Clothes stay on. I know how you are." She giggled. "Actually I'm almost as bad as you when we share, so I don't wanna tempt fate. Let's be," she paused, "clinical about this."

She knew how I was? Well—then—she also knew I was cautious by nature. What if her blood was poisoned somehow? What if her offer to exchange was a trap?

Exemplifying again that she seemed to know exactly how I was, she said nothing, waiting patiently for me to process my next step.

"My child knows of my location. If you try to trap me—or disable me in any way—she will come here. And your grandmother will likely be her first victim. The first of many," I emphasized.

Sookie took a deep breath, but her resolve didn't waver, nor did fear flash into her eyes. There was nothing but openness in them—and trust. And she didn't lower her wrist either.

"I would never intentionally hurt you, Eric," she promised.

"Unintentionally?" I asked.

Her eyes were suddenly full of guilt and pain. In that moment, she was the one who seemed to be a thousand years old.

"I've been through too much to not know that my intentions don't matter at all sometimes," she whispered.

It was in that moment that I made my choice. "You wrist. Me wrist. Clothing stays on. Because of how I am," I smirked, wishing to lift her suddenly darkened spirits.

My attempts worked as her smile returned.

"Don't forget clinical," she said with mock sternness.

I stepped toward her and took her proffered wrist in my hands. I was anything but clinical as I carefully prepped her delicate wrist, licking to raise the artery and then to numb the area so that she'd feel less pain. When I bit, she sighed and moaned in pleasure.

So did I. She was exquisite.

Sweet, but not too sweet.

I felt full immediately, but I wanted more.

So much more.

Her blood was like nothing I'd ever had before. And—to add to the pleasure of the experience—she played with the hair at the nape of my neck as I took another draw.

"What are you?" I whispered around the wound, though I was careful to spill nothing.

"Part fairy," she sighed, looking as stoned as I felt. "One-eighth. But—don't worry—this time around I'm hoping that they stay out of my life."

Her words sobered me enough so that I stopped pulling her blood into my body. "Fairy?" I gasped.

She nodded and then motioned for me to clean the mess I'd made. "Just part fairy."

Automatically, I nicked my finger with my fang and spread blood onto her tiny wounds before licking up all the excess blood. Her eyes stayed on mine the whole time, and I saw lust that matched my own.

I should have run screaming for the hills. Tasting part-Fae blood was one thing. Giving a fairy my blood? That was another thing. Fairies were devious and dangerous to my kind.

However, instead of draining Sookie Stackhouse and getting the "hell out of Dodge," as the humans in my area often said, I moaned at the flavor of our blood mingling together. She licked her lips as if wanting a taste. I longed for her to wrap those lips around many parts of me, the least of which was my wrist.

"My turn," she rasped rather throatily once I'd cleaned her wrist thoroughly.

"It would be much more pleasurable if I was buried in you when you took my blood," I said in a throaty tone of my own. "I'm sure we could make it—clinical."

She gasped, and—as I inhaled—her arousal almost overwhelmed me. Her arousal and her . . .

"You are a virgin!" I asked with surprise. I'd had her investigated by an associate on the police force in Shreveport. Among the innocuous things that he'd discovered about her was her age: 25.

In today's culture, it was rare to find an 18-year-old virgin, let alone one who'd "escaped the clutches" of men into her mid-20's.

"I am?" she returned with a frown.

"Yes," I answered with confusion.

A tear slipped from her eye. "Well—then," she sighed. "I guess that's another mistake fixed."

"You truly are an enigma, Sookie Stackhouse," I whispered, thumbing the pendant I'd given her before thumbing away her tear and bringing it to my mouth. Delicious. In the next moment, I was biting down on my wrist and offering her something I didn't offer lightly.

And I still didn't know exactly why I was doing it either.

I was generally much too methodical to do something such as this—with a part-Fae no-less!

I was generally too protective of myself to allow vulnerability of any kind.

Likely, the woman now eying my blood greedily was insane.

Or a witch.

Or just plain trouble.

Gods! How I liked trouble sometimes.


	10. Suitcases of Memories

Chapter 10: Suitcases of Memories

ERIC POV, CONTINUED

Sookie Stackhouse latched on to drink from my wrist without any hesitation. She sucked sharply at the already-healing wound, her eyes never leaving mine. And then she bit down—prolonging the wound's availability to her.

As she continued to pull hard from the wound, my cock throbbed. And then it "shouted out" in the only way it could—all over my fucking jeans!

She bit her lip coquettishly as she lifted away from my wrist—but only after licking up every last fucking drop as if my blood were ambrosia.

"Did I make that mess?" she asked innocently—and so-not-innocently—as she glanced down as the darker shade of blue around my crotch.

"What mess?" I grunted before pulling her to me and kissing her with all the prowess I possessed.

She opened her mouth to me as soon as I "requested" it, and then she proceeded to give me a run for my money—as if she already knew everything I would enjoy the most.

A lick of my fang.

And then a suck of my other fang.

A nimble of my lower lip.

A tickling of her tongue against the roof of my mouth.

It was literally as if I'd written out a list of instructions for her to follow, and I found myself moaning as I tried to create similar moans in her.

Eventually—unfortunately—she had to breathe.

And I needed to pull away, too. I needed to discover how it was that Sookie Stackhouse seemed to know so many things about me.

I needed to understand how she could affect me so strongly.

I needed to kill her!

I needed to fuck her!

I needed to possess her—to make her mine!

I needed to protect her!

I needed to know her!

I needed too many things to keep my head straight about them all.

As she panted to catch her breath, I paced in front of her.

"Tell me!" I ordered her.

She nodded. "You're going to think I'm crazy. And maybe I am."

I frowned. "Crazy how?"

She reached for me and took my hand, leading me into the old cemetery. When we reached the grave of Corbett Stackhouse, she stopped.

"This is my father's grave," she began. "He was the son of Fintan Brigant—half-fairy and son of Niall Brigant."

My jaw tensed. "I know of Fintan—and Niall."

"I know," she whispered. "Have you ever heard of a cluviel dor?"

"A fairy love token. Granting only one wish," I commented. "The magic needed to make one is great; thus, they are very rare."

She shrugged. "Maybe so—but I've known about two of them in my life. I even had one of them. Wait—I guess I have it again—sort of—though it's officially still Gran's. But, in Life 1, I," she paused, "used it to save a friend, instead of to protect you from imprisonment."

"Me?" I asked, very confused. "Imprisonment? Life 1?"

She nodded. "Yes. The second cluviel dor was given to you. And you used it to save me."

I frowned. "Sookie, that's impossible. I have never seen a cluviel dor."

She took a deep breath. "Not yet. But in the future, my life will be—was—destroyed. Yours too in a lot of ways. My demon guardian, Desmond Cataliades, gave you a cluviel dor and asked you to wish something that would protect me—save me. The morning after he asked you to do that, I drank some poison he gave to me."

"Why?" I asked, placing my hands on the enigma's shoulders and shaking her a little. "Why would you harm yourself?" I demanded, wondering why I felt such sudden distress at the thought.

Wondering why I hadn't already dismissed her as insane.

"I was too deep in despair to even want the cluviel dor to work," she said grimly. "You and I were separated—forever. I tried to move on and even pursued a new life with someone else—Sam. But all of my family was murdered. Sam was killed too. Niall's enemies were coming for me next, but my great-grandfather couldn't be bothered with protecting me," she said with a snarl. "Instead, he arranged for me to be a vampire king's pet. So I killed myself!" she added passionately. "And I'd do it again in the same situation."

I frowned, admiring her resolution, but still hating the thought of anyone harming her. Hating the thought of the fiery creature in front of me succumbing to despair.

"What happened after you took the poison?" I asked.

"I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I was here—in the past of my life. It had been December 24, 2007 to me. But I found myself awake and alive—I think I'm alive anyway—on June 12, 2004. That was the night I met my first vampire."

"Bill Compton," I observed.

She took a deep breath. "Yes. The first time around, I was in awe of Bill. And I was amazed that I couldn't hear his thoughts! Even that first night, I was so naïve that I let on to him that I was a telepath, which would have confirmed what Hadley had told the queen. Bill took up residence over there," she said, pointing toward the other end of the cemetery where the dim moon illuminated the roof of the run-down dwelling Compton had been at the night before.

Sookie continued. "One thing followed another. René killed two Bon Temps girls—girls who had had relations with vampires. Maudette was the first one. Then one of my coworkers, Dawn. My brother was implicated because he'd been with both girls. Bill escorted me to Fangtasia, where I planned to listen for clues about the killings. But I met you instead."

She sighed. "So many things happened quickly after that. Gran died," I sniffled.

"Adele?" I asked with concern. I seldom liked humans, but I did like her.

"René killed her; she bled to death in the kitchen," she whispered. "But I was his actual target," she added guiltily, her eyes haunted. "I was dating Bill by then—you see?"

"Bill? Dating?" I asked with a frown.

She chuckled ruefully. "Yeah. Needless to say, Bill acted differently during Life 1—when he learned that I was 'special'—than he did last night. And telepath + virgin = vulnerable," she said pointing to herself. "And an easy target. As you know, the queen sent Bill. Once he realized I was telepathic, he went about getting his blood into me and making himself my hero. After that, I fell in love with him quickly—at least I thought I did. He manipulated me; he lied to me. And I wasn't smart enough to question him."

Unbidden, my fangs extended in my anger.

Sookie smiled up at me with adoration in her eyes and raised her hand up slowly to stroke my cheek—as if to quell my anger.

Anger which I didn't understand the source of.

I leaned into her gentle touch. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" I asked, pulling away—with difficulty.

"For caring," she said matter-of-factly. "But I've already changed things with Bill—at least I hope so. Like I said, the first time I met him, he was real interested in me because of the way I acted around him. So Bill engineered a situation with a couple of locals to make himself seem like the victim of an attempted draining. Telepathically, I 'heard' their plans. I saved him on the night I met him."

"Saved him?" I asked intrigued—impressed.

She shrugged. "At least that's what I was led to believe. He offered me blood that first night—the blood the drainers had already taken from him. I said, 'no.' Not long after, the drainers attacked me and beat me to within an inch of my life. Bill rescued me and gave me some of his blood—after licking my wounds."

"A blood tie," I said.

"Not unlike the one we just began," she smirked. "Except this time, I knew all the effects beforehand. But you really are a cad for not telling me about them," she chastised playfully.

"Blood sharing was your idea—remember?" I smirked.

"And you are the king of opportunity," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

I agreed with a slight shrug. "So because of the cluviel dor that I supposedly used, you have traveled back in time—to right the wrongs in your life?" I asked, trying not to overthink the implications of that question. If I truly had successfully used a cluviel dor, it could mean only one thing: that a future me had loved the woman in front of me.

Truly. Deeply. Loved.

"Time travel is just one of my theories," she said, looking suddenly pensive.

"The others?" I asked.

"I might be insane—in a padded cell somewhere. Maybe all the deaths around me finally caught up to me and," she paused, "broke me. If that's true, then I'm just imagining this whole world—this whole time," she finished sadly.

"Well," I commented—strangely wanting to comfort her, "if you are that far gone, I hope you get to stay in your imaginary world, Miss Stackhouse."

She smiled a little. "Thank you. Me too."

"What are your other theories?" I asked.

"I might be in Hell," she said matter-of-factly, "being given a taste of the 'good life' again just so that it can be ripped away from me. If that's the case, people will eventually start dying again—no matter what I do."

"That will happen regardless," I reminded, "at least to the mortals in your life."

"I know, but I'm talking about violent deaths that I'm the cause of," she clarified.

"You think your Hell would offer you the illusion of hope and then leave you in more despair than ever?" I queried.

"Can you imagine a worse Hell?" she asked.

"No," I concurred. "But do you think your god would be so cruel?"

"But it wouldn't be God doing it," she said with some confusion.

"Ah—but he would be allowing it to be done," I responded, unable to imagine that the woman in front of me would have been capable of doing anything that cost her an eternity of torture.

She bit her lower lip. "Well—that brings me to my last theory."

"What is that?" I asked.

"I—uh—could be in Heaven," she sighed.

I laughed heartily. "I doubt I would appear in a Christian Heaven."

"What about the Summerland?" she asked playfully.

"I certainly wouldn't be invited there," I grinned, showing fang. "Unless it was vampire heaven."

She giggled. "I could be in Valhalla. How do you know that I'm not a follower of Norse gods?"

"Are you?" I smirked.

She shook her head. "No. I've learned about them though—because of you. I know you love Freyja most of all. And you are still pissed off that a Valkyrie didn't show up to kick Appius's ass."

My mouth gaped. "I've never told anyone that."

"You told me," she smiled sadly. "Almost two years from now. I was tortured by Neave and Lochlan."

"The fairy assassins," I gasped. They were well known even among vampires for their cruelty.

She nodded. "Yeah. I almost died. But you healed me, and—eventually—I started to feel alive again. One night, I told you that I was worried because I didn't see a 'white light' when I thought I was dying. And you told me about not seeing a Valkyrie. We were quite a pair of skeptics that night."

I shook my head in disbelief. Through the new blood tie, I could feel that Sookie was telling me the truth—the whole truth—about things I had supposedly done in the future.

Things that didn't seem like things I would do.

I shook my head again—this time to clear it a little. To think that I'd told her about my disappointment over not being saved from Appius by a Valkyrie was both unimaginable and comforting.

Strangely comforting.

"Well," I said after a few silent moments, "I think we should operate according to the time traveler theory."

"Why's that?" she smirked.

I shrugged. "If this is Heaven, then you are living out your paradise, and nothing we do will really affect that. Things will work out for the good no matter what."

"Makes sense," she nodded. "And if it's Hell, it'll all fall to shit no matter what."

I nodded. "And if you are insane, then nothing is real."

"But if I'm a time-traveling part-fairy?" she smiled.

"Then we have work to do," I grinned back.

SOOKIE POV

Work to do.

That was putting things lightly. After Gran had fallen asleep, Eric and I had trekked back inside, and I started his "debriefing"—as he called it.

It quickly became apparent that Eric didn't give a damn about messing with the space-time continuum—or whatever fooling around with the future was called.

And—honestly—I didn't care either. I'd already proven that with Bill and René.

Screw Star Trek—which was where I think I picked up the idea that "time" shouldn't be messed with. But they were hypocrites; they messed with time too by bringing back the humpback whales—right? Or maybe it was another show or movie that cautioned against changing the past. Frankly, I didn't give a damn about the butterfly effect! Why else had I been brought back if not to change things?

"What's that?" Eric asked. He'd been listening to me speak for hours with little talking of his own. Mostly, he'd just asked the occasional follow-up question. I had taken a break, however, to drink a cup of hot tea since my voice had started cracking with fatigue.

"Huh?" I asked inelegantly.

"You said, 'Frankly, I don't give a damn.' What are you referring to?"

I chuckled. "I was thinking about the effects we might have on the future."

"Surely, you don't want things to be the same as before," he asked somewhat cautiously.

"No. I want things to be totally different," I emphasized firmly.

"So—then—what don't you give a damn about?"

"It's a quote—sort of—from a movie I used to like: Gone with the Wind."

Eric considered for a moment. "1939: a good year for movies."

"I got the impression you hadn't ever watched the movie before—when I told you I loved it—uh—in Life 1."

He looked at me somewhat guiltily. "Oh—I tried to watch it. Pam was forever dragging me to movies back then. The Wizard of Oz was a particular favorite of mine."

I let out a snorting laugh. "What? Really? I wouldn't think that you would have liked that one."

He smiled softly. "The moment it went from black and white to color was," he paused, "stirring. It was one of the earliest films to effectively depict the color of the sunlit sky—at least, as I remember it."

"Oh, God!" I blushed. "I should have thought about that!"

He waved off my reaction. "Don't let it trouble you. The film was also an interesting metaphor for the Supernatural world." His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Or, at least, that's what I convinced Pam to believe. She still argues about it with others vampires."

I laughed loudly enough to worry that I might wake Gran, but her mind stayed in sleep mode. "So what? You fell asleep during Gone with the Wind?" I asked sarcastically.

He shook his head. "No. And—for the record—the colors in that film were nice too. But I just couldn't stomach it, so I left."

"What couldn't you stomach?" I asked curiously.

"Scarlet seems so independent and spirited, but she is inexplicably fixated on a man who is unforgivably weak." He shrugged. "I didn't want to watch more of her self-debasement. So I left."

In that moment, I recast myself as Scarlet in my mind. Bill was Ashley Wilkes. And Eric was Rhett Butler. I shook my head because everything seemed to "fit." In fact, I wanted to kick myself because the comparison was too close for comfort.

"What if I told you that I acted like Scarlet for a long time? What if I told you that I was enamored by an Ashley Wilkes—except that mine was not only weak but also fake?"

"Compton?" Eric asked.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Then, was I your Rhett?" Eric preened a bit. "Even though I left the theater before the movie was finished and haven't watched it in the subsequent years, I have learned through popular culture that he was a cad. And a scoundrel," he added proudly.

I chuckled. "Yeah. You were my Rhett," I confirmed before frowning.

"Why do you frown?" he asked.

"Rhett finally gets tired of Scarlett's shit and leaves her—right at the moment when Scarlett finally sees the light. And his last words to her were, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Eric was the one to frown in that moment. "I left you. In your future," he commented.

I'd already told him about Freyda and Appius.

"You had to," I said.

Eric looked down at the list he'd been writing based on the things I'd told him. We'd agreed to a "his to-do list" and a "hers to-do list," with a few things overlapping. His list was longer because, frankly, we both felt it would be best if it didn't become widely known that I was a telepath. Plus, there really wasn't a lot I could do about people like Sophie-Anne and Felipe.

Eric seemed lost in his thoughts, so I got up to fix him another TrueBlood. I knew he didn't want one, but I felt momentarily better going through the motions of getting it for him as I thought about the previous hours we'd spent together.

Eric had—unsurprisingly—been a wonderful "co-conspirator," giving me all kinds of ideas. He was all for taking every advantage that could be taken—from betting on the Super Bowl outcomes I remembered to eliminating all enemies before they could become problems.

However, with every situation I told him about—with every item he wrote down on the list he was making—he grew more thoughtful. More silent. More and more introspective.

And more angry.

I knew that he wasn't angry at me, however. I also knew that he was already plotting and planning.

I brought the TrueBlood to him, and he downed it in one giant gulp—no doubt just to be polite, based on his cringe.

"I should go," he said. "Unless there's more."

I glanced at the clock: 4:44 a.m. "Funny," I commented.

"What?" he asked.

"Gran used to tell me that I could make a wish when all the numbers on the clock were the same," I said.

"Then make one," he said with the slightest of smiles.

The clock turned to 4:45 a.m. "Too late," I whispered.

"Well—we've likely used up our allotment of wishes—for now," he said, his eyes beating into mine intensely.

"Yeah. Um—so—I think I remembered everything," I said, gesturing toward his list.

"Thank you," he responded, folding the sheet of paper and putting it into his back jeans pocket. Based on his economic scrawls, I knew that the list wasn't that detailed, though I'd not read it. However, I also knew that his memory was perfect—so perfect that the list wasn't needed. But it somehow made me feel better to know he had it nonetheless.

The vampire rose, and suddenly I didn't quite know what to do.

"Um—any other questions?" I asked, fingering the pendant he'd given to me.

"No. I believe I have all the information I require," he answered somewhat formally.

I walked with him to the door, but stayed inside as he stepped out onto the porch.

I wanted to walk out with him—to throw myself into his arms and to kiss him.

But telling Eric 2 about our experiences together didn't automatically mean he would want me. In fact, in telling him about "us," I'd likely discouraged any interest he might have had in me. And—now—I'd given him a map to how to avoid me and other problems that would be coming his way.

In short, he no longer really even needed my telepathy.

Or me.

Plus, I loved Eric 1. So wouldn't being with Eric 2 be cheating? I shook my head, thinking that I really could go crazy if I kept thinking about my situation.

"Good bye, Eric," I said softly, trying to smile a little.

"Stay safe, Sookie Stackhouse. I do," he paused, "give a damn."

I smiled a little, but his words still seemed like a goodbye. Maybe even a final one.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You will do well in your new life," he said firmly—confidently—before taking off into the sky.

I did step out onto the porch after Eric left, trying to catch one more glimpse of him as he flew away into the night. But I saw nothing in the graying sky.

Feeling as tired as I'd felt at the end of Life 2, I turned and went back into the house. I checked all the locks on the doors and windows before straightening the dining room—where Eric and I had sat.

When the evidence of his visit was gone, I turned off all the lights and went to the living room to sit on the couch. Though it was a warm night, I pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped myself into it.

I looked at the fireplace.

And missed the fire.

Would I ever see Eric again? His final words had sounded—and felt—so final. I'd so wanted to beg him to stay—or, at least, to ask him to return soon. But Eric had done so much for me already. The "other" Eric had given me a new future—wishing it into existence with the power of his love. And the Eric in this time had given me his trust and his help—already.

In turn, I would trust him—and accept whatever he chose to give to me.

Even if that was nothing else.

I sighed and closed my eyes, enjoying the heat of the blanket.

The world was already different. Thanks to me and Eric, four lives would already be spared, if poor little Tina was included.

I smiled into the dark.

Maudette—I didn't know her well and she wasn't particularly nice to me when I did see her, but she didn't deserve to die because of her taste in men!

Dawn—she could be a pain in the ass and was pretty self-centered at times, but she also had a streak of kindness in her that would grow if she ever found herself in a comfortable situation. I knew from her mind that her family had "gone without" a lot, and she didn't apologize for taking advantage of her good looks in order to make better tips and keep food in her stomach.

Gran—I couldn't even begin to process the fact that René wasn't going to get to her this time. There would be no puddle of blood in the kitchen. No look of horror on her usually serene face.

Tina chose that moment to jump up on me, burrowing into the blanket as well. "You too," I whispered to her as tears fell in large circles from my eyes. She purred and I stroked her soft fur for a long time—appreciating her life.

JUNE 14, 2004

As expected—since the rumors had had more than a full day to circulate—René Lenier's crimes and confession were the talk of the town when I went to work the next afternoon.

But—to me—the most important part of the day came when Maudette walked into Merlotte's around 5:00 p.m. In my "first life" she would have been dead already. But she was alive and well!

I took a minute in the walk-in so that—hopefully—my tears would freeze in my eye sockets. I'd been so close to crying all day that it wasn't even funny!

When I returned to the floor, Maudette was the object of most of the customers' talk since René had confessed—loudly—that he would have killed her next. Maudette enjoyed being the center of attention for a change.

Ironically, another of René's "victims," Dawn, was her waitress, and she and Maudette talked about going to Fangtasia together since Dawn had "missed" the tall blond vampire during her first trip. Maudette told her that Mr. Northman was aloof, but definitely worth seeing.

I tried not to hear what both Dawn and Maudette wanted to do to and with Eric. I wondered if Dawn would succeed the next time she went to Fangtasia. Looking at her—so pretty and confident—I didn't doubt that Eric would be as interested in her as everyone else was.

Just as he'd been interested in her before.

I shivered as I recalled Eric—Eric 1—telling me that he'd tasted her.

Forcing myself to focus on Maudette in order to get my mind off of Eric and Dawn, I determined that Maudette was really cute too—just in an understated way. Eric 1 had once said that she wasn't worth his time, and I found myself offended on her behalf.

Yes—that was much easier than imagining him with my coworker!

After Maudette had finished her conversation with Dawn, Sam went over to talk to Maudette for a while. When she mentioned that she was now a little nervous about working at the Grabbit Kwik late at night because she was all alone there, Sam brought her an application.

And—to add to the "dead" people in the equation—Lafayette cooked Maudette a special version of his famous burger that he saved for people he liked and, apparently, for people who survived a serial killer.

I was already trying to figure out how to make sure that Lafayette didn't end up dead. The Maenad had been on the list Eric had made, and—seemingly—it had been her influence which had caused the violent orgies to begin with. I was hoping that Eric could figure out a way to either keep her out of Area 5 completely or to placate her from the start. Still—I intended to keep an eye on Lafayette.

And another on Mike Spenser!

Following the "old timeline" to a certain extent, Sam had finally gotten up the nerve to ask me out on a date earlier that day. Just like everyone else, he was shaken up by the René thing, and he was thinking about how a long life wasn't guaranteed to anyone—not even to vampires.

He was right about that.

Sam had spent the better part of the evening working up his courage, and then he'd asked me out for a "proper dinner" when I'd been on my break.

The sentimental side of me had wanted to say "yes" to Sam. But I didn't say yes. I told Sam the truth: that I thought we were better as friends. I also told him that I wished like hell he had trusted me with the fact that he wasn't human. Unsurprisingly, he'd blamed Eric for spilling the beans. After Sam had "shifted" the blame for his omission, I'd decided to "shift" the blame to Bill—horrible double-pun intended.

Still—I assured Sam that I would always be his friend. However, I also made clear that I didn't want more with him.

Perhaps I was too cold—too ungrateful—regarding Sam, considering what he'd been willing to settle for with me during Life 1. But I honestly didn't want Sam to have to "settle." Didn't he deserve "better" too?

I thought so.

I hoped so.

Despite my rejection of Sam, we seemed to regain our comfort-level with each other before I left for the night.

Again—I hoped so.

Part of me expected—no, wanted—for Eric to be waiting for me when I got home. I could picture him waiting on the porch—his long frame stretched out on the old swing. Or maybe he was inside, making Gran giggle with his attentions.

But he wasn't there.

Still—I couldn't be disappointed. Gran was there.

She was alive and well and about halfway done with her Viking-era romance novel.

She was disappointed when I told her I'd not heard from Eric that night, but I reminded her that he knew I had to work.

I reconciled myself with that tidbit of information too.

And I hid from my sadness.

There was too much to be grateful for to be sad, after all.


	11. Secrets Stolen

Chapter 11: Secrets Stolen

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2004

APPROXIMATELY THREE MONTHS LATER

SOOKIE POV

I'd finally found the time and the courage to go to New Orleans to deal with "family business."

I'd told Life 2's Eric about Hunter on the second and last night I'd seen him—the night of the "debriefing."

But Hunter had been on both of our "lists."

It wasn't that I didn't trust Eric. I did trust him—despite the fact that he'd obviously decided that a life without me in it would be better for him.

I really couldn't blame him.

Plus, Eric was bound to be busy!

After all, I'd told him about everything I could imagine would help him: from Longshadow and Charles Twining; from Bill's database to Peter Threadgill's treachery; from Godfrey in Dallas to Hallow the witch; from de Castro and Madden to the Maenad; from Rhodes to Hurricane Katrina; from Freyda to Appius and Alexei. I supposed that I'd given him so much information that I'd made myself obsolete.

In my long night with Life 2's Eric, I'd also told him many things that would certainly turn him off to anything having to do with me.

Near-final-death experiences. A lot of them.

Emotions that I doubted any Eric had ever wanted—or would ever want.

I was a trouble-making and trouble-attracting part-Fae. And I figured all Erics would know better than to get involved with one of those.

In his defense, the Eric from Life 1 hadn't known what I was until he already had feelings for me.

Life 2's Eric had been afforded a very different set of variables to work with.

And—as for me? I'd already accepted the fact that a life without Eric was likely the price I would have to pay in order to keep the people around me safe.

The very Sunday after I'd started Life 2, the minister at church had talked about the value of true penance for one's sins. He'd said that a penance was sometimes imposed by society, sometimes by the church, or sometimes by God. But, just as likely, it was taken up voluntarily by an individual as an atonement for sin and error. I thought about all of my mistakes and shortcomings in Life 1 and decided that my penance would be not contacting Eric.

Even by the end of Life 1, I'd known that I didn't deserve him. I thought about all that he'd sacrificed for me—including a century of his freedom. I just couldn't allow for Life 2's Eric to suffer or forfeit anything for me!

Especially not his freedom.

No—I'd be damned if Eric suffered in Life 2 because of me!

And—to ensure that didn't happen—I needed to stay away from him.

If he chose me—chose to come to me—I knew that I wouldn't be able to resist him. But—with each day—it seemed less and less likely that Life 2's Eric wanted to be anywhere near me.

Penance: The minister had stated that it wasn't easy, but it was sometimes necessary.

Also necessary was for me to try to embrace Life 2—to honor the Eric who had given it to me.

To honor Gran.

To honor everyone who had been lost in my first life.

And—though it was easier said than done—to honor myself.

So I'd been living as well as I could.

I'd been working six days a week (since Arlene still couldn't be completely relied upon because of the René thing); however, remembering how Eric had believed that I could be so much more than a waitress, I had "continued" studying for the SAT, which I had taken in August.

I was just glad that I'd retained my knowledge from Life 1.

I'd just gotten my results, and I'd done well—considering the many minds in the testing center who'd seemingly been conspiring to give me the wrong answers. Thankfully, Eric's blood was still in my system—still bolstering my shields.

Since I'd learned that my scores would qualify me for a lot of universities, I'd begun applying for admittance and financial aid for various online programs—because I wanted to begin my classes in the spring semester. Thankfully, there were college degrees that could be gotten totally online nowadays! And Gran felt great pride when I talked about getting an Accounting degree. Given the work I'd done at Merlotte's in Life 1, I didn't doubt that I was capable of bookkeeping. I just wondered if anyone would give me a job in it once I was done with school.

Perhaps irresponsibly, I'd decided to hope for the best and go for my degree—come what may.

Meanwhile, I'd been saving up all the tips that I could and planned to bet on the World Series. My first project after winning would be funding a new driveway and any part of my college expenses loans wouldn't cover.

Oh—and I planned to save some of my winnings to bet on the Super Bowl too. I'd used my telepathy to find a reputable bookie. There were plenty who worked in the area, given the fact that the casinos on the Mississippi and in the Gulf were full of people wanting to gamble on anything they could.

Of course, I had insider information—not that anyone would ever know about that.

Being a waitress in a bar in Life 1 had been fruitful; I knew all the results of all the major sporting events. The Red Socks were going to make me a fortune when they swept the Cardinals—or, at least, as much of a fortune as my meagre savings could earn.

And then the Patriots were going to win me more money when they beat the Eagles in February—just in time for property taxes.

"A victimless crime," I told myself. "And a new paint job that Gran would be proud of," I added with surety.

Unfortunately, dealing with the Hadley situation was more difficult than any driveway treatment or new paint job or even new roof.

To tell Gran or not to tell Gran about Hadley being alive—and then undead since she was due to become a vampire any day—those were the questions.

In the end, I'd decided not to tell Gran. After all, Hadley hadn't asked Sophie-Anne to find her family. She'd told her queen about her "odd" cousin in order to curry favor.

If Hadley ever decided to dial Gran's number—a number which had belonged to Gran my whole life (and a number that was listed in the fucking phone book!)—I would support any relationship Gran wanted with my wayward cousin. But—until then—I knew that telling Gran would mean initiating relationships with people we shouldn't know about.

Questions would be asked.

My telepathy might be discovered.

And people would likely start dying because of it.

Because of me.

As my deciding factor, I'd recalled Hadley's Will from Life 1. She hadn't left her things to Gran or to Aunt Linda, who had been alive when she'd left our family in her wake. No—she'd left her "estate" to me—specifically—meaning that she must have known enough about our family to recognize that her mother and Gran were both gone. But she'd never bothered to pay her respects to either of them.

Still—the prospect of Hadley dying when I could prevent it was difficult to bear. And Hadley's death at Waldo's hands wasn't something I figured Eric would prioritize acting upon—though he'd put it on his list. I needed to make sure. Plus, there was Hunter to consider.

That is how I found myself driving to New Orleans—praying to God that my car would last the trip. Of course, I'd used my winnings from the few regular season football games that I could clearly remember to take my yellow eye-sore to Tray Dawson for a seeing-to, and "she" was running better than ever. But "she" still complained at any speed over 55 miles per hour.

Oh well. I was used to getting passed—left behind.

I shook myself from that thought and once again second-guessed the lie I'd told Gran to explain my two-day trip to New Orleans.

I had told her that I was meeting with Eric for a job. It was a cruel lie—given the amount of hope that the invocation of Eric's name had brought to her. But it was a necessary lie.

After all, I had to tell her a reason for me going to New Orleans.

I had no friends there.

And I wouldn't vacation without Gran!

Not that I'd ever vacationed.

Thus, the trip had to be about business, and Eric's was the only name I could come up with when telling Gran who would hire me for anything beyond waitressing.

Of course, Eric wasn't really meeting me in the Big Easy. In fact, he hadn't contacted me in any way since the last time I saw him.

However, I could no longer wait. My conscious compelled me to make sure that Hadley was warned about Waldo. And I needed to—somehow—look in on Hunter.

Plus—with every passing day—a weight pushed upon me: Niall. I needed to ensure that he never contacted me.

And the only answer I could come up with for any of these issues was Desmond Cataliades.

Thus, I'd dialed the phone number he'd had me memorize in Life 1, and I'd made an appointment with him.

And then I'd sent Eric a letter, asking him to corroborate my "alibi" if Gran asked—though I doubted that Eric would get the letter until I was already back in Bon Temps.

In truth, I'd thought about calling the demon lawyer about a thousand times. After all, he'd helped me in Life 1. But it was probable that he didn't know about my telepathy in Life 2 because Hadley's stories about me had never been confirmed by Bill.

Hell—I didn't even know if Hadley was a vampire yet in Life 2!

Life 1's Hadley hadn't known about Hunter's ability. Life 1's Remy had told me that the last time she'd contacted him was when Hunter was only a few months old—well before the little boy could talk.

And betray his "gift."

However, Hadley was a wildcard in Life 2.

Once the queen had been "disappointed" in not getting a telepath, how had things changed for my cousin? Had she been killed? Had she been turned "early?" Had she been punished somehow? Would she actually decide to be a mother to her child in Life 2?

I didn't like Hadley being a variable. I didn't like that she might eventually recognize Hunter's telepathy in Life 2. I didn't doubt that she'd tell the queen if she did.

Of course—in Life 1, it had been me who had put Hunter onto the Supernatural radar when I'd asked Niall to help me find Remy Savoy. But it had been Copley Carmichael—of all people—who had mentioned knowing Hadley's ex and child! Before that, I'd had no idea about Hunter! And Copley's involvement couldn't be a "good" sign.

Granted, so much was different in Life 2—already. Thus, the fact that Copely knew about the ex-husband and child of a person who'd rented an apartment from Amelia likely wouldn't matter to him at all—because I wasn't going to enter his life this time around. But I still didn't like the fact that Copley had found Remy so "interesting" in Life 1—that he'd seemingly kept better track of Hunter and Remy than Hadley had!

Yes! Something had to be done to protect the little boy—even if I couldn't do it directly.

I checked into the Holiday Inn.

Room 324.

Officially, it was my "first" hotel room since Life 2 me hadn't stayed in the hotel in Dallas or Rhodes.

I figured that—if Life 2 me was a virgin—then other things Life 1 me had done with my body didn't much count either. Moreover, neither Life 1 me nor Life 2 me had ever booked her—my—own hotel room before. So that was new no matter what!

I decided to order room service instead of going out to dinner on the first night of my stay. No need to tempt fate.

Given my luck, I'd run headlong into Andre on Bourbon Street!

I ate poached salmon and fried potatoes, and I turned in early, though I was too anxious to sleep comfortably.

Thankfully, my name had been enough to get me a meeting with Desmond Cataliades—and an escort to his office—and I was ready at 9:00 a.m. when Gladiola knocked. I spent a moment adding her to the list of "alive" people who'd died in Life 1. Gladiola was so full of life and cheer that I found myself smiling widely at her the whole time she escorted me to her uncle's office—though I couldn't understand a word she said since she talked so quickly!

Likely, she thought I was crazy as I grinned at her.

But such a thought wouldn't be the first time. And her mind stayed like static to me. I was grateful for that.

"Miss Stackhouse," Mr. Cataliades greeted me, before leading me into his office and to a comfortable chair.

Coffee was offered and accepted, and as the "round" fellow fixed me a cup, I took him in.

I recalled that I'd interacted with him with almost indifference when I'd seen him the last time in Life 1—even though he'd given me choices that not even Niall was willing to give. I should have told him "thank you"—at the very least.

Now—in the middle of Life 2—I wanted to hug him. But he didn't know me—or anything about me—beyond my name.

However, as soon as he sat down, I remedied that. Apart from Eric, he was the only person I knew deserved the truth.

"I am a time-traveler and a telepath—because of you," I told the demon before he'd even made his rotund body comfortable.

Mr. Cataliades said nothing—in fact, he hardly moved a muscle—as I told him about his part in my "reincarnation."

After I was done with my explanation and my requests regarding Hadley, Hunter, and Niall, I waited for the demon lawyer to speak—even as I became more and more concerned that he'd be calling the people with the straightjackets to come and get me.

But he didn't.

"You want me to threaten Niall, the Prince of the Sky Fae?" he opened—when he finally did speak.

"Um—no. But yes. Uh—I just wanna make sure that Niall never contacts me. Can you help me with that?" I asked.

Mr. Cataliades frowned. "Claudine hasn't come to you? Not like before?"

"No," I whispered. Not contacting her had been difficult, but I'd thought it was for the best.

"Given the fact that no connection has been made—perhaps none will be," he suggested.

"But what if it is?" I asked, fearing the prospect of Gran being home alone when Neave and Lochlan appeared.

Mr. Cataliades contemplated for a while, seeming to run several scenarios through his head, even as he dabbed his brow and neck with a handkerchief over and over again.

"I think that I can persuade Niall not to approach you," the demon lawyer finally said.

I nodded, allowing him to see my hope and gratefulness. But I didn't ask him "how" he planned to accomplish his goal. I was pretty sure I didn't want to know. "What about Hadley? Hunter?" I asked.

"I am Hadley's attorney, and I can tell you that Adele Stackhouse is her beneficiary."

"Good—that's good," I said.

"And Waldo won't be an issue."

"He won't?" I asked.

"Waldo died two months ago," the demon stated.

"How?" I asked.

"No one knows," he responded.

An image of Eric flew into my mind.

"Is Hadley a vampire yet?" I asked.

"Yes. Shortly after Waldo died. It was a few days before the queen turned her that I was called in to do a Will for Hadley."

I was silent for a moment. "What about Hunter?"

"Hadley has nothing to do with him. She wants nothing to do with him. In fact, she didn't even tell me about him. When I was drawing up her Will, I "heard" about

Remy and Hunter from Hadley's head. The image of the child was of an infant. She plans never to see the boy again because she doesn't want to complicate things with the queen, who doesn't let her talk about her family anymore."

"That's good," I whispered.

"I figured that—like you—Hunter was well-removed from the possibility of inheriting the spark, so I haven't visited him. Now that I know he has the spark and—therefore—my ability, I will see to him," he said.

"How? How will you see to him?" I asked.

"I can teach him how to control his telepathy," the demon said. "I could teach you, too."

"Better that I never have contact with you again," I said firmly. "But—please—do help Hunter if it can keep him secret."

"You don't want help?" he asked with a frown.

I shook my head. "The queen currently believes me to be without an ability, but if it became known that I was visiting with you or that you were visiting me, she might wonder why. Uh—are you sure the queen doesn't know about Hunter?"

The demon lawyer frowned. "I don't think so, but I will find out for sure. If she knows, I will hide him. If not—based upon what you told me—I will act to keep his ability a secret from her."

I smiled. "Thank you. Um—please—let me know if I can help. But—uh—for now I'm afraid to . . . ." My voice trailed off.

"Afraid to?" he probed.

"Afraid to have anything to do with Hunter," I said firmly. "I'm afraid to have anything else to do with you either, Mr. Cataliades. I'm sorry, but one meeting might be explained. Um—however, if I came here again—uh—and I were seen . . . ."

He smiled at me kindly. "I understand. And I am glad that I was able to help you find this new life," he said. "I'm sorry I failed you in the other one."

I shook my head and brushed away a tear. "Just—please—keep Hunter safe. And keep Niall away from both of us if you can."

"I swear that I will do my best," he said sincerely.

I got up to leave.

"You know—you look like him. Your eyes. Your chin," he whispered.

"Fintan," I sighed. "I haven't even gotten up the courage to ask Gran about him yet—even though I've found the cluviel dor—from this life," I said significantly. "Do you think it will work?"

He shrugged. "I don't see why it wouldn't. Everything seems to have been reset."

I looked at him seriously. "If Hunter's ever in danger, call me. I'll use it on him. Otherwise, I think it's best that he never knows me, and that means that Gran can't know him." I let out a sob—so overwhelmed by my guilt of keeping Hunter away from Gran so that he could be kept away from me. Rationally, I knew that it was Life 2's Hadley that had kept herself and Hunter from Gran, but in that moment, I felt completely responsible for the secret.

"Just—uh—make sure that Hunter knows he's not alone," I whispered, wiping away tears as I spoke. "Let him know that he's not the only telepath in the world. And—if you think he needs," I paused, "love—please tell me. I—uh—I've tried to do what I can to stay out of people's lives since I was like Typhoid Mary in Life 1, but I don't want Hunter to have to be alone. If he needs," I paused again to let out a sob, "Gran, let me know."

"And what would you do then?" the demon asked me.

"Go away, of course," I said quickly. "He could be with Gran. She would love him."

"But . . . ."

I interrupted him with the raising of my hand. "The only reason I haven't disappeared already is that—if I do—it might draw attention to everyone I love. In fact, I'm doin' my level best to convince everyone—even my brother—that I never really could read minds. But Hunter—well—we barely knew each other before, and he mainly just wanted someone to help him to not feel so very alone. And—uh—Remy is a good man. He'll be even better once Hunter's gettin' help, and this time, that's gonna happen so much sooner!"

Mr. Cataliades looked like he was going to argue with me for a moment, but he didn't. Instead, he spoke to me in his lawyerly voice. I appreciated that.

"For now, Hadley is fine; she is the queen's favored pet. Now that I'm aware of Hunter, I will begin working with him right away. And I will contact you if the cluviel dor is needed for him. You may rest assured."

I felt about a thousand pounds lighter as I nodded to him. "Thank you. Thank you so much," I whispered through my emotions.

"I failed you during your first life," he said. "I won't fail Hunter this time. I swear it."

I was grateful for Mr. Cataliades's words.

"Can I do anything else—for you?" he asked.

"Just keep Niall away from me and from Hunter," I said.


	12. The Second Hand Unwinds

Chapter 12: The Second Hand Unwinds

SATURDAY, JUNE 25, 2005

APPROXIMATELY NINE MONTHS LATER

SOOKIE POV

I woke up with a jolt, sitting straight up. I saw the gray and beige bedroom I'd tried to die in. Felipe's pool house!

I blinked. And I blinked again. Only when I calmed myself from whatever nightmare I'd been having did I recognize that I was in my yellow room—that I was home.

I took several more steadying breaths until I "found" Gran's mind. She was trying to decide between a baked chicken and a roast beef for Sunday supper. I sighed, letting myself think her thoughts with her for a while—until I was sure that she wasn't dead.

I gripped the cool metal in my hand and then opened my fist to see the question mark pendant in it. I inhaled and exhaled in relief. I was in Life 2.

The same thing happened every morning.

Every time I woke up, I found myside inside of Life 1 for a moment—even though I'd been living in Life 2 for more than a year. I always had to center myself—to focus on Gran's mind, which was invariably busy by the time I woke up. And then I had to look at the pendant that Life 2 Eric had given to me.

Ironically—surprisingly—I was grateful for the daily memories of my life that had been. Those memories kept me grounded—and grateful.

And vigilant.

However, all things considered, Life 2 was very different from Life 1.

For example, I'd just completed my first semester of online classes.

Beginning Accounting: A+

Biology: C+

Algebra 101: B

Beginning English Composition: A-

Gran had put my report card up on the refrigerator, as if I were a grade-schooler. But I couldn't help but to be proud too. After all, those were my best grades ever. In public school, I'd gotten more "pity" C's than real ones. But in my online classes and with my "virtual classmates," I was a "valuable contributor"—at least that's what one of my professors had told me.

I smiled as I slipped out of bed. I'd already started my summer courses. I was taking three—anxious to finish my degree. I'd easily gotten through my four during the spring semester because—let's face it—I didn't have much of a life. I'd kept my fulltime hours at Merlotte's, but I had very little "social life"—unless my chats with Gran counted.

Indeed, I was viewing my life as if I had two full-time jobs. Merlotte's and school. And—given those commitments, I didn't have much time to think about Eric at all. In fact, I'd already registered for six classes in the fall, which was the maximum I could take.

Just so that I would continue to not think about him—just as much as I could.

I was determined to graduate as soon as I could—even if my degree didn't lead to a "real" job. My earnings from my betting were enough to pay for my education—though I was currently taking loans and saving my money. And—for now, at least—I was having fun learning things I'd never been able to learn before.

I had to say that—for a telepath—online classes were amazing!

Every night—I wanted to call Eric. To tell him, "Thank you." It had been he who had first encouraged me to look into getting an online education. Actually, it hadn't been Life 2 Eric. It had been Life 1 Eric.

I frowned.

Life 1 Eric was gone.

In coming back, I'd killed him.

Gran still talked to me about Life 2 Eric every once in a while, despite the fact that I'd told her that I was the culprit behind out "breakup." Looking back, I should have come up with a different reason for going to New Orleans other than working for Eric. That trip had just extended Gran's hope that Eric and I were having a "secret" fairy tale romance.

To keep Gran from hoping even longer, I'd had to stop wearing the question mark pendant Eric had given to me, though I kept it under my pillow and held it grasped in my palm each night.

I couldn't help but to wonder if Eric could still feel me from our one blood exchange. It had been more than a year since we'd shared our blood, so I doubted he could feel me.

I, of course, had never felt him—not in Life 2.

The funny thing was that Gran had become pen pals of sorts with Eric. He wrote to her like clockwork—once a week. And his letters always requested that she write back to him. And those letters were always accompanied by pink lilies.

Yes. Eric and Gran had become true friends through the words they'd written to one another, but I could only imagine what they spoke about since I denied myself the comfort of delving into Gran's mind when it came to them.

Penance.

I made sure that Gran knew that I didn't begrudge her the contact she enjoyed with the Viking.

In fact, a part of me was grateful that Eric's life was still touching mine—even if it was only indirectly.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 29, 2005

I'd just suffered through a double shift—thanks to Arlene's most recent "boyfriend crisis"—and had come home to hear Gran thinking about Eric's latest letter.

After a quick shower, I told Gran that I was gonna take some flowers to Daddy and Momma.

Accepting the fact that she and Eric were writing to one another was one thing. Having to hear about it when my shields were shot to hell was another.

I'd "heard" that he'd told her about an interesting encounter he'd had with Martin Luther in his weekly letter. It was exactly the kind of thing I'd always wished that he'd have told me about. But—then again—when would he have felt "free" enough with me to share himself?

I hurried out of the house and cut some roses before heading toward the cemetery. As always, I kept a tight reign over my distress—a tight reign over all of my feelings. I didn't want to risk Claudine visiting, after all.

So far, I'd avoided any contact with her, which meant that her life expectancy had increased by a lot.

I sat next to Daddy's grave and meditated, quickly feeling myself become numb, which was something I'd perfected during my time in Life 2.

All vampire blood seemed to be out of me now; thus, maintaining my shields was up to me and me only. And I'd been much more conscientious about trying to make others forget that I was "different." I wanted everyone to think of me as "ordinary."

Because of this, I'd been keeping all of my feelings close to the vest.

Even when it hurt like hell.

Joy was okay to feel—but I allowed the emotion only when I saw or interacted with anyone who was "supposed" to be dead.

Thus, I stayed somewhat disconnected from it—clinical.

Love was okay to feel—but only when I interacted with my family.

Clinical.

Loneliness was okay to feel—but only when I was in my bed at night waiting for sleep to come.

Clinical.

I cannot say how many times I woke up, my fingers searching for Eric—who was always just out of reach.

But I culled my loneliness. Long ago, I'd determined that it would be selfish on my part to ask for personal happiness in my "new" world. Others' lives versus my own happiness? That equation didn't need a mathematician to solve.

The answer was as clear as a bell.

Others Sookie.

I laid two roses on my daddy's grave. And then two on my mother's grave. The former was based on affection—the latter on obligation.

My duty to them done, I lay down between their graves, thankful for the silence the cemetery offered.

Aching to touch something alive, I allowed my fingers to delve into the earth—to link with the grass. And then I allowed myself to focus on my victories over the last year.

People I'd helped to keep alive: Maudette, Dawn, Gran, Tina (though she wasn't a person), Hadley, Lafayette.

And more too!

Just the week before, I'd thwarted Sweetie Des Arts from ever getting started with her spree of hurting the two-natured.

I felt good about myself.

But my loneliness cut me. Perhaps that loneliness was my true Hell—my true penance. Nowadays, I always found myself struggling between selfishness and selflessness. I wanted to contact Eric, but I worried about the consequences—for him, for Gran, for Hunter, for Jason, for Sam.

For everyone!

Thus, most of the time, I just tried not to have a "self" anymore.

Work, spending time with loved ones, trying to protect said loved ones, studying, sleeping.

Those were the activities of my days.

Setting up an account to provide Jason and Gran with money in the event of my death—thanks to the bets I'd made on various sporting events.

Hustling at work so that I could earn as many tips as possible so that I'd have more for future bets.

Studying as hard as I was capable.

Being the best granddaughter I could be.

Being the best sister.

The best friend.

Pretending that I didn't have a huge hole in my heart named Eric Northman.

Eric—I tried not to think of him that much. But it was difficult.

And—I knew that Eric was fine, of course.

My major source of information about Eric—a source I wish I didn't have—was Dawn. She would go to Fangtasia at least once a week.

After the first two visits, her memories of Eric had involved him sitting on his throne. But after that, her memories had become harder for me to bear. I will admit that I was heartbroken when I unwittingly—unwillingly—"heard" Dawn thinking about being with Eric: recalling what it had felt like when he bit her, remembering the look in his eyes as she'd given him a blowjob, thinking about what his dick felt like when he was having sex with her from behind. No glamour had been involved in their encounter, so Dawn's memories had been crisp and clear.

And loud!

I'd had to escape to the walk-in for a while after hearing them.

But it was worse when—two weeks later—Dawn thought loudly about a repeat performance. More sex. More biting. Eric telling her that her blood was better than most.

Then two weeks later, Dawn had new memories.

Internally, Dawn celebrated that Eric had made her a standing "date" as she told Sam that she'd need Monday nights off from then on.

Mondays—Fangtasia was closed on Mondays. I tried not to analyze what that meant too much.

I tried not to think about how Dawn was reading up on how to make her diet more "vampire friendly." Apparently, there were things that could be eaten or avoided in order to improve the taste of one's blood.

I tried not to cry every time Dawn thought about how happy she was to be "seeing" someone who made her feel like a queen.

In short, I tried not to be jealous of Dawn because of her Monday night dates.

After all, it's not as if I had any claim to Eric in Life 2. And it's not as if I could compete with someone like Dawn—if that's what Life 2's Eric wanted.

Indeed, Dawn and I were polar opposites.

She was tall; I was short.

She was a brunette; I was a blonde.

And then there were the more significant points of difference between Dawn and me.

She wasn't a time traveler; I was.

She expected no commitment or feelings on Eric's part; I would.

Oh—and she hadn't caused a heaping load of trouble in his life either! Of course Life 2's Eric hadn't experienced that trouble first hand, but he'd heard all about Life 1 Eric's troubles—many of them occurring because of me.

Plus—and this was the part it was hard not to be jealous of—Dawn was beautiful in every thought I heard about her, and it was her smile that most stood out in people's minds; on the contrary, people's minds still judged me as "odd," and my boobs seemed to be my most memorable "quality." Whenever we worked together, Dawn would get better tips—despite the fact that I had my telepathy to help me anticipate customers' needs.

She was just more likeable.

More loveable.

Hell! Even Gran thought about Dawn's beautiful smile and friendly personality when Jason casually mentioned that she was "seeing" Eric Northman, the owner of Fangtasia, during Sunday supper a few months before. Gran was still sad that things didn't work out between Eric and me. But she couldn't help but to feel happy for Dawn.

She imagined them together. In her mind, they were a "striking couple."

And they were.

I was happy for them too—at least, I was when I wasn't focusing on my losses. The unselfish part of me even recognized that someone like Dawn was good for Eric. She was fun, and drama wouldn't follow her around like an albatross.

Still—it had become very difficult for me to work with Dawn because her thoughts often drifted to Eric nowadays.

A restaurant he took her to.

A dress he bought her.

A diamond bracelet.

His laugh.

His eyes.

The feelings she was developing for him.

She'd been my work partner for the second half of my double shift, which I'd taken so that Holly could go to a PTA meeting.

I was startled as someone knocked on my car window: Gran.

It was then that I realized I must have been sitting in my car for about twenty minutes—and probably worrying Gran the whole time!

Quickly, I opened the door to get out.

"You okay, honey?" Gran asked.

I took her hand. Yep. She'd been worrying about me.

"Something happen at work?" she asked.

"No. I'm so sorry to worry you, Gran," I said as I held onto her hand while we walked up the porch steps together. "You know how double shifts give me headaches though."

She sighed. "I wish you wouldn't work those. I'm gonna call that boss of yours and give him a talkin' to," she threatened.

I chuckled. "Don't do that, Gran. You know Sam tries. And—remember—Holly had the PTA meeting tonight, and Danielle is still down with that summer cold that's been goin' around."

"Sam needs to replace Arlene," Gran said as she took her favorite seat. I finally let go of her as she did. Gran figured that I had started holding onto her so much because I was worried about her getting old. And I was. But the truth was that I held her hand or hugged her whenever I could because I remembered what my world had been like without her in it.

I frowned. Arlene had been working fewer and fewer days. Her most recent man had moved in and was paying some of her bills for her. The problem was that that man was Whit Spradlin. In Life 1, Whit had turned Arlene into a militant Fellowship of the Sun member, and I could tell that a similar thing was happening in Life 2, too. The main difference was that there wasn't a vampire living in town to galvanize the vampire haters.

"If Whit asks her to marry him, Arlene's gonna quit," I said. "Sam's already mad at her for refusing to work shifts with Dawn," I added. Internally, I thought about how odd it was that Arlene had remained my friend in Life 2, only because vampires weren't in my life. But I worried that she might transfer her violent tendencies in Dawn's direction.

Thus—truth be told—I hoped that Whit did marry her so that she wouldn't be working at Merlotte's when the shifters and Weres "came out," which I figured would still take place the next January.

"What about Maudette?" Gran asked. "When will she be back?"

I smiled. Maudette had been an interesting difference in Life 2. Sam had hired her on at Merlotte's—part time at first so that she could still work day shifts at the Grabbit Kwik. The interesting thing was that Sam and Maudette had started dating almost immediately after that.

No longer pining for me, thanks to the fact that I told Sam that "we" weren't ever going to happen, Sam had shifted his attentions elsewhere.

Within a few months, Sam had told Maudette his secret, and she took the news really well. She'd even watched him shift a few times, according to Sam. Not long after that, Sam asked her to marry him, and they were expecting their first child.

"She can't come back till about a month after the baby's born," I told Gran.

Gran frowned. "How is that baby of hers doin'?" she asked with concern.

"Okay. I visited Maudette during my break, though, and she's about ready to go nuts!"

"Poor thing," Gran sighed. "I couldn't imagine havin' to be on bed rest for so long."

I nodded in agreement. Maudette's blood pressure had been elevated since she'd reached her sixth month of pregnancy, and she'd stopped working a few weeks after that.

"Do you think she'd enjoy leaning to knit?" Gran asked offhandedly, even as her own surprisingly nimble fingers picked up her knitting needles and continued her currently project, which was a little baby cap for Sam and Maudette's little one.

"I'll ask her," I smiled, bending down to give Gran a hug and thinking about what a kind human being she was.

But Gran wasn't thinking about Maudette.

She was thinking about how she'd given up on me having kids. Or finding love for that matter. Eric's face flew into her mind and landed there as she wished that I'd been able to keep hold of him.

She wondered what I'd done to drive him away.

If she only knew.

Keeping my own sorrows from my face, I pulled back from the hug. "I'm gonna shower and hit the sack," I said lightly. "Don't stay up too late," I added.

Gran hummed out a noncommittal response about not needing as much sleep as a "young person" as I hurried from the room and away from her worries about me.

Her concerns for me had only grown during the previous months—no matter how happy I'd tried to seem.

My shower helped me relax a little, but it was many hours—long after Gran was dreaming—before my own thoughts allowed me to sleep.

MONDAY, JULY 3, 2005

ERIC POV

Dawn Green was pleasant company. She had what Pam called a "bubbly personality."

And she was an excellent source of blood on the nights that Fangtasia wasn't open.

I'd taken her out to a few vampire-friendly restaurants in our time together. To please her, I'd also given her a few small gifts—clothing and small pieces of jewelry. Impersonal items that Pam had gotten for me.

I'd considered moving her into one of my more "public" homes and making her a "pet" officially, and I knew that Dawn would go for that. It was clear that she'd be open to someone taking care of her needs.

But—truth be told—I had been growing bored with Dawn, despite the fact that her blood was better than average. The sex was also better than average.

And that's why I'd kept her around for so long as I had.

But the conversation? Not good.

She'd never made me laugh.

Or feel anything—for that matter.

In the past, I'd hire dancers at Fangtasia who would be my "go-to" feeds and fucks when none of the fangbangers appealed to me. Once I tired of them, I'd glamour them to start looking for other work. If they became clingy—as a few did—I would glamour them to quit immediately and to forget all about me.

Dawn was unique in that she was ready, willing, and able to come to me on the nights Fangtasia was closed. If I took her out, the conversation was light. If I didn't have time for a longer encounter, she seemed fine with a quick fuck and feed before going on her way.

She didn't expect me to be involved in the other six nights of her life, though she seemed quite proud that I'd made an arrangement with her. Any small talk we had was about pop culture: songs and movies. If she spoke of her work, it was in generalities. I knew that she was a waitress, but didn't want to be one for the rest of her life. I knew that she had a coworker getting an online degree and was wondering if she could do the same. I knew that her boss's wife was pregnant.

It occurred to me—as soon as Dawn said the name "Sookie" for the first time—that my weekly meal wasn't one to mention "proper" names at all. In fact, during the many months we'd spent time together, Sookie's was the first name she'd spoken.

Sam Merlotte had been termed "my boss."

Sookie had been identified as "another waitress."

Arlene Fowler was "that bitch at work."

Bon Temps was "Bumfuck" in Dawn's vocabulary, so I hadn't even known the name of her hometown. If I had, I would have never made my arrangement with her.

As it was, Dawn was in the thrall of my glamour for the first time as I questioned her about whether she ever talked about me with Sookie.

She didn't. Apparently, Dawn felt sorry for Sookie because she'd never had a boyfriend. So Dawn didn't bring up the subject of guys around Sookie because she didn't want her to feel bad.

I was pleased by that answer.

Then I asked if Dawn ever "thought" about me at work.

I was not pleased by her response to that question.

Dawn conveyed that—since her job was monotonous—she did spend quite a bit of time daydreaming, and apparently, I was a common source of her day dreams.

I asked how often she worked with Sookie.

At least three times a week.

Regret filled me. Unwittingly, I'd been subjecting the one woman I truly wanted to spend my time with to the thoughts of a woman I'd made an arrangement with only for the sake of my convenience.

It was my own fucking fault too! As soon as I had decided to make Dawn a "regular," I'd told Pam to investigate her—as I did with all my "regulars." When Pam had offered me her report, I'd waved her off and just ordered her to summarize.

Her summary had been succinct.

"Redneck waitress from Bumfuck. No Fellowship affiliation. Parents dead. No siblings. Not quite dirt poor, but close. Mud poor. Rents an apartment. No credit cards. Great ass, great tits. Smells decent. Better than your normal regulars." Pam had even joked that she would have asked me to share Dawn if she wasn't going through a blond phase.

I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers against my brows, frustrated by the fact that Bon Temps was apparently called "Bumfuck" by every fucking person in the state!

Except for me.

I regretted that I'd not read Pam's report and vowed to never accept a summarized version again. And then I finished Dawn's glamouring.

We would not be meeting anymore.

She could tell her friends that we broke up if she wanted.

She would sell the jewelry I bought her.

And, finally, she would not think about me anymore. In fact, she would remember no details about me—not even what I looked like.

Dawn left immediately after she had dressed, and I flew to one of my actual safe houses—the one that I knew Sookie was aware of.

I stared at the painting Sookie had known about for hours—the one I'd painted based on my memories of being at sea as a human.

Generally, I tried not to think about Sookie Stackhouse and the two encounters I'd had with her. Of course, that was difficult since I was often contending with information she'd told me about. I'd made headway with eliminating some of the threats, but not nearly enough to risk Sookie by doing what I wanted to do.

By going to her.

As I stared at the rough waters I'd once painted under the direction of Vincent Van Gogh himself, I allowed myself to feel my longing for a woman that I barely knew in this life, but had been pledged and bonded to in another.

I allowed myself to feel regret that she'd had to endure Dawn's thoughts. Even if Sookie didn't want me in her current life, that didn't mean that she would enjoy seeing the face and body of "her Eric" in the daydreams of a coworker!

"Fuck!" I yelled aloud.

I didn't like having feelings!


	13. Then You Say, Go Slow

Chapter 13: Then You Say, Go Slow

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2005

APPROXIMATELY SIX MONTHS LATER

ERIC POV

It had been 564 nights since I'd seen Sookie. To say that I'd had to force myself to stay away from her—especially after the Dawn fiasco—would have been an understatement.

But I had forced myself.

The "list" of future items included so many threats to Sookie—many of them occurring because she'd been "mine."

Because of that, I'd decided—even before I'd died for the day following our second encounter—that I would do everything in my power to make sure that Sookie was not harmed this time around. And I'd vowed to deal with all of the items that she'd told me about before I even contemplated seeing her again.

Of course, for more than a year, I had tried to convince myself that I was focusing on the list for self-preservation.

Not for Sookie.

I chuckled ruefully as I thought of a quote by one of my favorite authors from the last couple of centuries: Rudyard Kipling. He'd once said, "Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears."

My fear of feelings.

My fear of failing Sookie.

Yes—these fears had been at the root of my self-told lies. However, acknowledging the truth that I did care about Sookie—despite our short acquaintance (at least, on my end)—did nothing to change my actions.

And I had acted—a lot—based upon Sookie's words to me.

Her warnings.

I dealt with the Longshadow situation quickly and decisively, but without stirring up the ire of Hot Rain. I created a situation during which I personally caught Longshadow in the act of stealing. And, because of that, I'd been able to dismiss him from my area with no problems. Vampire law allowed me to seize all of Longshadow's property in Area 5, so I'd done just that. I was also within my rights to punish the thief with silver before I banished him, but—instead—I'd contacted Hot Rain and turned over the corporeal punishment of the child to his maker. Hot Rain had been grateful for my forbearance and had promised to command his child to never enter the state of Louisiana again.

Longshadow never saw or knew about Sookie. He was let off with a "slap" on the wrist—relatively speaking—though I'd heard that Hot Rain kept him in silver for a month. Having doled out the punishment himself, Hot Rain had no reason to want revenge. In fact, he owed me a favor.

Good enough.

The next issue I'd dealt with had been the Maenad. I had made sure that she'd been given ample tribute on the very day that she'd stepped foot into my area. In fact, I gave a large enough offering to count for all other bars in Area 5, too.

On my knees in respect, I'd asked Callisto—personally—to move on from my area immediately, suggesting Las Vegas as the site of true debauchery in the United States. Callisto hadn't even asked me why I didn't want her to be in Area 5. She'd simply remarked that I "had the future in my eyes" before leaving immediately.

I'd had a good laugh when I heard that she was wreaking havoc in Las Vegas a month later.

I couldn't help but to hope that what happened there—her—would stay there.

Next up, I'd managed to help Stan—though anonymously. Godfrey was dealt with "internally" before he could kidnap Farrell. However, I did hear that the ancient vampire still met the sun; he'd just not had the opportunity to take anyone with him.

As far as Queen Sophie-Anne went—I offered evidence that ensured that she would escape most of the downfalls outlined by Sookie. For example, I passed along damaging information concerning Peter Threadgill before Sophie-Anne sought a marriage alliance with him.

In fact, I became an expert at offering "insider" information without seeming like the one with any of the knowledge.

Ironically enough, it was learning that Karin had been willing to help me in Sookie's "other time," which encouraged me to contact her—to ask her for help in "this time." True to form, Karin was intrigued by the variety of tasks I wanted her to complete. My first child had always been restless—much more prone to boredom than even I was—but she was also creative and relentless. Just what I needed to deal with the de Castro and Madden situation.

Looking back, I knew that I wasn't really ready to be a maker when I turned Karin. I had used her to give myself a purpose after Appius let me seek my own life. But—unlike with Pam—I didn't yet know how to give back any of myself when I made her.

Even from the first, I had been able to tell that Karin wasn't fully content with me—though I treated her well and taught her all that I knew.

She wanted me sexually for only a little while, and I certainly never forced her. Unlike Pam, she certainly preferred men, but she liked taking her meals during sex—not that I blamed her. And she was thirsty for variety in her meals and lovers—not that I blamed her for that either.

Knowing of Karin's restless desire for independence, I should have released her as soon as I knew she could exist on her own. But I did not. I just wasn't strong enough to let her go at the time. I was selfish for her company.

It was during our final decades together that Karin began to feel mild resentment toward me. She would often ask to be allowed to go off on her own, and I did let her leave my side for a few months at a time. It was never enough for her, but she indulged me out of love and loyalty.

In the end, it was an encounter with Appius that ruined our relationship for a very long time.

By then, Karin and I had crossed paths with Appius a few times. Appius had been all "charm" during those interactions. He'd seemed curious about our lives. Each time, I'd offered myself to him sexually. I could tell that he wanted it, and part of me had even missed my maker. And I certainly knew better than to disappoint him. The sex had been private—affectionate even.

Moreover, Appius had been particularly kind to Karin. By then, my maker had been looking for his own child to turn for a while, but he was patient. Not just anyone would do for Appius Livius Ocella, after all! I'd been worthy only because I was a Nordic prince and a good warrior and sexually attractive to Appius. He'd watched me for a long time in order to confirm my worthiness before he'd taken me.

In hindsight, I should have anticipated that Appius's geniality wouldn't last forever.

Karin and I had been in France when I'd felt Appius's "call." I'd not felt it for a long time, and I worried that my maker was in danger. Hell—feeling Appius at all was quite unusual for me. He had a gift which allowed him to shut down any emotion-sharing in our bond.

Of course, I answered my maker's call as quickly as possible with Karin in tow.

We found Appius in the court of the King of Rome. Appius was inconsolable, for he'd finally found his "new" child, but the young man hadn't survived the transformation process.

Appius could be particularly cruel when he felt weak or when he failed in some way. He had the need to reassert himself—to show his dominance in a very public and physical way. And I was—quite literally—his chosen "whipping boy" when his attempt to make a new child failed.

In his mind—that failure was somehow my fault.

As soon as I saw my maker, I knew I was in trouble. And I also knew that there was nothing I could do about it.

Appius commanded me to my knees in front of the many other vampires in the Roman king's court. He loudly proclaimed that no child had ever disappointed a maker more than I had disappointed him—that no child deserved punishment more than I. The Roman king, an old friend of Appius's, found the situation hilarious and encouraged my maker's baser inclinations.

The most difficult part for me was that Appius compelled me to command Karin to watch all of my "punishment"—to learn from it.

To learn what a "pathetic creature" her maker was so that she would not follow in my footsteps.

Seeing me powerless before my maker—weak before him—made Karin doubt me. Seeing me forced to submit sexually to him—and to everyone else in the court who wanted a turn with me—made her pity me. Seeing me commanded to accept any and all debasements—without putting up a fight—made her lose much of her respect for me.

Seeing me cut and silvered and raped—and then forced to beg for more—made her lose the rest.

Appius kept me as his whipping boy for 83 nights.

At the end of them, he castrated me and sent me on my way.

I closed my eyes and tried not to remember my condition when Karin and I had finally been allowed to leave Rome. I tried not to remember that Karin had needed to carry me from the city and to dig the hole we rested in the first day we were away from Appius. I tried not to remember that I'd been too weak to seek my own meal. I tried not to remember the judgment in Karin's eyes when I'd drained the human she'd brought to me for sustenance even when she'd tried to pull me off of him and promised me more.

I'd always taught her to value the lives of innocents. I'd always taught her the need for self-control.

But—after the worst 83 nights I'd ever spent with my maker (even worse than my first years with him)—I had forgotten all lessons.

I had forgotten all mercy.

Before Rome, Karin had felt my maker's command only when it was for her own good; I'd never given her a cruel command as Appius had done to me when I was a young vampire. But—in my shame and to my shame—I did after we left Rome.

Once I was physically healed—which took more than a year—Karin asked to be let go again, but instead of giving her even a month of freedom from me, I commanded her to stay by my side forever. When she resisted the command, I made her bow before me. When she resisted again, I imposed my will upon her until she was in agony.

And I watched her love for me turn into hate.

I suppose I wanted her affection for me to die—I supposed that I needed for it to disappear. After Rome, I felt despicable, and I wanted to be despised.

Plus, seeing and feeling Karin's hate was better than seeing and feeling her disappointment in me. Her pity.

Indeed, before Rome, I had thought myself "healed" from my maker's cruel "upbringing." What Karin didn't understand was that the scene in the Roman court wasn't so different from things Appius had done to me when I was a fledgling and required "punishment"—though he'd never done it on such a large scale.

In fact, after my first fifty years or so with Appius, he began to treat me with reluctant respect. He taught me many valuable lessons. Eventually, he gave me choices about whom I would feed from and fuck. Our relationship shifted to a kind of partnership. I learned to create situations that would prevent him from becoming bored or disappointed. I even learned to "enjoy" his sexual attentions.

In other words, I evolved into Appius's ideal child. And, when I did—ironically enough—my maker no longer wanted me around.

Appius sent me away from his side—desiring to put his energy into something more stimulating: finding a new child.

By the time I'd left my maker, I'd been "programmed." I didn't hate him. I didn't resent him. In fact, it took me a while to figure out how to thrive without him. That's why I'd needed Karin.

I needed someone to live for—having forgotten how to live for myself.

After Rome, I came to understand that my maker could—and would—do anything he wanted to me. Anytime he wanted to do it!

That is also when I recognized that Appius would never truly free me. For a while, my bitterness ate at me, and I was keen to make everyone around me suffer as well.

Including Karin.

Especially her.

Thankfully, it took me only a few months to realize that I was no better than Appius when it came to my child—no less cruel.

Thus, I lifted all the commands I'd ever given Karin. I released her from all future commands. I set her free.

I told her that I would love her always and would always welcome her to my side—if she ever wanted to be there again. However, I made clear that her forgiveness was her own to give—and that I didn't truly deserve it.

Free at last, Karin left my side without a word.

I wandered after that, exploring the Far East—going as far as Japan. I stayed away from anyone who had ever known me. I met new vampires and studied new kinds of combat.

I went on in solitude.

I didn't see Karin for more than a century, though I kept track of her in passive ways. She quickly made a name for herself. Even in the far reaches of the earth, she became rather notorious as an enforcer and was eventually nicknamed "Karin the Slaughterer."

Eventually our paths crossed in Istanbul. Her life experiences had helped her to understand the cruelty of some makers, so she knew that what Appius had done to me wasn't completely unheard of—though the extremes he had gone to in order to subjugate me were rare.

Still, Karin had begun to appreciate that I'd not been overly cruel to her—at least, not for long. By the time we saw each other in Istanbul, she'd forgiven me for the brief time I'd held her to my side by force. I was grateful for that.

After that, we were "warm" with each other, and—until I came to America—I always made a point to see her every decade or so, just to find out about her life. The invention of the telegraph and then the telephone helped us to stay in touch once we were on different continents.

When I phoned her after my encounters with Sookie, Karin was using the opportunities created by the Great Revelation to see the parts of the world she'd not seen before.

I told my eldest child about Sookie Stackhouse in the vaguest of terms—careful not to mention the telepath's name (or even that she was a telepath). I called Sookie "the psychic," and I told Karin about the possible future the "man" had predicted.

I suppose that—in many ways—Pam was too close to the situation, so I'd been reluctant to ask her to help me with the "list." But Karin was removed from me. She was free from me. She could hang up or listen as she willed.

But she chose to listen.

And then she chose to help.

Truthfully, Karin was the perfect person to help me to anonymously spread the knowledge given to me by Sookie. From the far ends of the earth, my child sent emails or made phone calls using untraceable technology.

Pretending to be a handmaiden of the Ancient Pythoness, Karin warned Russell Edgington that Lorena might try to start trouble in his kingdom.

Pretending to be a weather witch, Karin called Queen Sophie-Anne and told her about Hurricane Katrina a month before it happened. Sophie-Anne was so frightened by the prospect of destruction that she "battened down the hatches" and even commissioned a project to build up the levees.

After the hurricane struck, Sophie-Anne was lifted up as a beloved heroine by humans, for—without her timely work—the destruction would have been many times worse. People still died, and some parts of New Orleans were still lost. But—by all accounts—the vampire queen had saved many lives and much property.

After that, Sophie-Anne was so popular that Felipe would have been a fool to fuck with her. Hell—she even became an AVL poster girl.

But that wasn't really good enough for me. Karin's main task was to stir up trouble in Nevada—however she could—as long as she wasn't implicated. Having met de Castro in the Old World, she was more than happy for the task.

Apparently—he'd been a douchebag even before they were invented.

Of course, because Sophie-Anne had not slain Peter Threadgill in this timeline, there was no great need for the Louisiana vampires to go to Rhodes—especially given the fact that we were busy in the aftermath of Katrina.

Not that Rhodes was a disaster anyway.

Pretending to be a Fellowship member with a conscience, Karin had called the manager of the Pyramid of Gizeh Hotel, warning him of the plans "her people" had for the vampire summit. Needless to say, the suitcase bombs never made it to their destinations.

Needless to say, I'd never felt closer to Karin.

Another thing to thank Sookie for.

Another reason to make sure she stayed safe.

Another reason to stay away from her.

I sighed and closed my eyes, remembering everything about the way she'd looked when she'd told me that she loved me.

Surprise.

Adoration.

Thankfulness.

Sincerity.

I shook myself from my feelings, lest they overtake me.

Practical: I knew that I needed to remain practical if Sookie was to survive.

I needed to see to every item Sookie had told me about until the possibility of her hurt was annihilated!

I growled in contemplation.

After the Longshadow and Maenad situations had been dealt with, I kept my eyes out for Hallow and her brother. Needless to say, they didn't live to see their first sunrise in Area 5.

In addition to the ones I already had, I planted a few more spies in the queen's court, though it had been my old friend Rasul who'd told me about how Hadley had been "punished" by the queen for "getting her hopes up that there was a telepath in the kingdom." Hadley had been glamoured to never speak about her family again. And—once she was turned—she was commanded not to speak of them. I figured that command also protected Sookie's cousin, the little boy—Hunter.

However, I had Bubba watching over the boy, nonetheless.

To combat potential fairy issues—which were what I was most immediately concerned with—I'd hired a Britlingen to monitor the portal near Sookie's home at all times. However, Clovache's primary assignment was to watch over Sookie and Adele—without their knowing it. Sworn to secrecy, the Britlingen had been told about Sookie's telepathy; thankfully, for just a bit more money, Clovache had agreed to shield her thoughts completely from anyone in this realm. That took more of Clovache's energy than was "normal"; however, I'd been assured that she would be able to fulfill her duties in this realm for the next 67.3503 years (as opposed to her usual maximum—75.498 years). But I figured 67-plus years would be plenty of time.

Clovache's standing orders? 1.) Kill any immediate threats to Adele or Sookie. 2.) Capture any threats that were not immediate and bring them to me. 3.) Inform me of any activity at the fairy portal.

I had also employed Thalia for a job that excused her from Fangtasia duty for the next five years. Her work was straightforward: to drive the fairy triplets—Claudine, Claude, and Claudette—from Louisiana without harming them. In the end, her job had been easy. For several weeks, she'd left her scent in and around the strip club where the Cranes worked, Hooligans. She'd followed them whenever they'd gone outdoors at night.

Of course, they knew how to teleport, but—because of me (and Sookie, of course)—Thalia knew their home address.

Predictably, not long after Thalia had made first "contact," all three of the fairy triplets had been spied at the Fae portal. Clovache had watched as they'd returned to Faerie; thankfully, they hadn't returned to the human world since then—at least not through the portal near Sookie's home.

I knew that Sookie had liked the one called Claudine, but I was glad to have them out of Area 5 all the same.

The one thing that Sookie's narrative had taught me above all else was that even well-meaning fairies could bring destruction with them.

And I was determined that Sookie's "second life" would not be destroyed.

No matter what I had to do.


	14. Sometimes You Picture Me

Chapter 14: Sometimes You Picture Me

ERIC POV, CONTINUED

I massaged my furrowed brow.

The one seemingly impossible situation to deal with on my list was my maker.

Thanks to Sookie, I knew roughly when Appius would enter Oklahoma.

But my hands were pretty much tied when it came to eliminating the threat he posed to me—or anyone else I cared about. Long ago, Appius had commanded me not to do anything to jeopardize his life—including engaging others to move against him.

I knew that Karin wanted to act against Appius, but when we'd reconciled following Rome, I'd asked her not to. I knew how strong Appius was—and how difficult it was to catch him off-guard. As strong as Karin was—as crafty—I wouldn't give her much chance if she decided to go up against my maker. Thankfully, she was practical enough to know this too.

Still, I had considered many options for dealing with Appius. I'd thought about taking a "vacation" and seeking out Appius while he was still in Europe—claiming that I'd "missed him." Of course, once I saw Appius, I would volunteer to "help" with Alexei.

However, this plan was flawed. According to Sookie, the "boy" vampire had gotten worse after being around me, for he'd become jealous that Appius might prefer me to him.

I shut my eyes tightly, wondering what the fuck had possessed my maker to turn a thirteen-year-old human—a hemophiliac no less! Even if Alexei was royalty and attractive to my maker, there was no fucking excuse for Appius's shortsightedness.

I had thought about having Alexei killed. But what would losing his latest child do to Appius? It was quite possible—probable even—that he would call me to him if Alexei met his true death. I thought of Rome and worried what a "repeat" would entail. Alternatively—if he lost his "current project"—Appius might become "nostalgic" and come to me instead of calling me.

And that was an even more frightening thought.

I didn't want him anywhere near me!

Or Pam!

Or Sookie!

In fact, imagining the havoc Appius might cause in my life compelled me to command Pam to leave the area immediately if I phoned her and used a particular code word. For her sake and for mine, I wanted her far away from Area 5 if Appius put one toe into it. Going a step further, I also released her so that Appius couldn't compel me to "call" her.

Moreover, I took steps to have Pam hide the material possessions that meant the most to me. For—no matter what occurred with my maker—I didn't want the things that I treasured to be lost to me.

Given the way that many things had already changed because of Sookie's information about the future, I knew that Appius wouldn't be killed as he'd been during her first life. However, the idea of him being finally dead appealed to me more and more with each passing night.

I wanted him gone. I just didn't know how to accomplish that goal.

Despite Rome, I'd—unforgivably—become too complacent regarding my maker. After I'd heard that he'd successfully made a new child, I'd relaxed, believing that he'd now have no more use for me. After all, it had been centuries since I'd seen or felt anything from him.

Other than "feeling" that he still existed.

But—clearly—Appius still remembered me and thought of me as his property to do with as he wanted. Or—at least he would remember.

The more I thought about the fact that he'd simply parceled me off to Freyda—albeit in Sookie's other life—in order to keep his brain-damaged whelp from being executed, the more pissed off I became.

I considered killing Freyda. After all, she was the one who had apparently agreed to take me in exchange for Alexei's life. Without her in the equation, I wouldn't have been "sold off."

But—then again—if I killed Freyda and was caught, I'd be fucked!

Plus, who was to say when someone else would barter with my maker for me. Appius clearly hadn't considered my wants when he'd made his deal with the Oklahoma queen. Thus, it stood to reason that he'd never consider what I wanted—not that he ever had before.

In the end, I knew with certainty that it was Appius who needed to die. But I still couldn't do a goddamned thing to make that happen.

Meanwhile, I had treated everything else on the list "from the future" with as much speed and completeness as possible.

Hell—I'd even dealt further with the Compton situation.

H aving heard from Sookie about Bill's database concept—and about how it had made the asshole "indispensable" and somewhat powerful in the future—I'd contacted an old associate and friend of mine, Alastair Cross, with an idea I pretended to have "out of the blue."

Alastair had been living in New York for about a decade, but hadn't taken up permanent residence there because he preferred having "visitor status" wherever he went. He was probably the best-connected vampire I knew—and certainly the most liked.

In fact, Alastair was so personable that he was welcomed almost anywhere he went. Plus, his maker, a vampiress named Marion, was practically revered as a goddess because of her age and kind spirit. I couldn't count the number of vampires she'd fostered when their own makers proved worthless. Hell—I'd even spent quite a few years with her.

I'd met Marion in Tibet. It had been she who'd helped me to feel mentally strong again after Rome. It had been she who'd convinced me that I should "live" again—just to give Appius a proper "fuck you."

However, unlike his maker, Alastair wasn't known for his philanthropy or his practicality. For example, he had never really made his own money. Oh—he was not destitute. His many friends and his maker made sure of that. But—in a candid moment he and I had shared decades before—he'd told me that he wished he could find a pursuit that would be both profitable and enjoyable for him.

He wanted for his maker to be proud of him.

It was when I was considering Bill's database idea that I finally thought of a good "job" for Alastair. I offered to finance a computer database project for Alastair to oversee—one that I knew would be superior to Compton's.

Basically speaking, I offered to pay Alastair to travel and socialize; I foresaw that he could get information that Compton would never even dream of. To support Alastair, I hired two computer experts—one vampire and one Were. They would develop the actual program, enter the data, and ensure that the information was protected much better than Bill's collection seemed to have been in Sookie's future.

All that I asked of my old friend was that my name never be connected with the project.

Alastair had jumped at the opportunity. The first version of Alastair's database had been completed months before Bill's was in Sookie's "future." And Alastair 1.0 had been extremely profitable!

In fact, my friend's name had now reached the status of a verb. One had either been "Alastaired" or one was waiting to be.

I smiled as I thought about the pride with which Alastair had spoken of the project when we'd last met. He now enjoyed respect in addition to the cordial welcomes he'd previously received in vampire courts. Moreover, the vampires he'd not yet "Alastaired" practically begged him for visits—with both money and favors. Indeed, being a part of Alastair's database was seen as an honor, for—unlike Bill—my friend had been careful about the level of information he included about the vampires he interviewed. He also held "veto power" over every entry and would painstakingly go over it before it was officially added to the database. Because of this, Alastair's work was perceived by my kind to be a useful—though innocuous—tool.

Since Alastair hadn't been an official resident of any state or nation at the time when his database came out, I advised that he should volunteer to pay the "usual tribute" from the profits of Alastair 1.0 directly to the Vampire Council—thus gaining the Council's protection and support.

And—of course—my cut of the profits went straight into an account in the Caymans before it was wired to a Swiss account and then back to the Caymans. Needless to say, no one would ever connect the database to me.

Because of this, Queen Sophie-Anne had no idea that I'd "killed her potential cash cow" before it had been born. Compton's database was rushed to the market as soon as possible after Alastair's was launched. However, it was clearly inferior and made no profits. Sophie-Anne had kicked Compton out of the state soon after, and—the last I heard—he and his maker, Lorena, were living in Peru.

As petty as it may have made me, I wished them a very miserable life there.

In addition to eliminating any "Compton love" before it ever started, Alastair had proven to be useful in other ways too.

It had been Alastair who had "delayed" Appius's travels to the United States. I'd asked my friend to approach my maker and his new child during his first data-gathering mission in Europe. Unsurprisingly, my maker already knew of Alastair, who was over 600 years old. Also not surprising—given his amiable nature—was the fact that Alastair was able to calm down Alexei a little. Some bridges that had been burned in Europe because of the unruly child had been rebuilt—thanks to Alastair's help. And my name was never brought into the matter.

I figured my friend's efforts would buy me at least an extra year or two to figure out what to do about Appius.

As I'd been reflecting on the previous months and on my efforts to stop Sookie's previous future from happening, I'd also been seeing to the night's ledger, and when the figures added up to the penny—as they always had since I'd taken over for Bruce following the Longshadow incident—I closed the book with satisfaction.

Opening my desk drawer, I saw the picture I kept of Sookie. It was a copy of her DMV photo. I also thumbed through the letters I'd exchanged with Adele since I'd met her. Those letters were the only contact I allowed myself with the Stackhouses—except for the slight feeling of the blood tie between Sookie and me. Time had lessened its effects, but I could still feel Sookie's life force and tell her approximate location. By all rights, the tie should have been completely faded by now, but it had endured—probably because Sookie was part fairy.

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter," I called out after closing my desk drawer.

Pam approached with a smirk. "Your pen pal wrote."

My child dropped the night's mail on my desk. A letter with Adele's handwriting was on top. Pam enjoyed teasing me about the old woman, but she knew nothing about Sookie.

Eventually, Pam had asked me about how I knew "so much about so much."

Like with Karin, I'd told Pam that I knew the things I did because a psychic had honored me with some of his knowledge. Because Pam had asked follow-up questions that Karin had not (typical Pam), I'd told her that the psychic had exchanged his information for a small fortune. Pam didn't question the fact that the "well from the future"—as she liked to call it—was about to dry up. In truth, Pam believed that Adele was the "psychic," and that the well would dry up when the old woman died.

But—to her credit—Pam didn't bother Adele or seek to interfere in my relationship with her in any way.

Unless her private teasing was counted.

After updating me about the happenings in the club, Pam left the office.

As I thumbed the edges of Adele's letter, I opened my desk drawer to again look at Sookie's picture. It was a horrible likeness, but I'd memorized it nonetheless.

Of course, I'd memorized a lot more about Sookie Stackhouse—during the two nights I'd known her. The curves of her body. The tones of her voice. The luster of her hair. The brightness in her eyes. The softness of her lips.

The feelings she'd felt for me—feelings I'd experienced as soon as our blood tie took hold.

Feelings I still couldn't quite comprehend.

I picked up Adele's missive and smiled to myself.

I'd found myself writing to the Stackhouse matriarch a few nights after I'd met her. Even without Sookie in the equation, Adele would have been worth my time. So I'd given it to her.

Moreover, I'd recognized that Adele had wanted for Sookie and me to be a couple, and—since that no longer seemed likely thanks to the list of obstacles in our way—I'd wanted for Adele to believe that I was to blame for our "issues." I certainly didn't want for Adele's thoughts or hopes to harm Sookie.

So—in my first letter to Adele—I'd told the matriarch that Sookie and I just weren't compatible enough to pursue romance. I expressed that I was "too jaded" for someone as innocent as her granddaughter. I explained that my life was too violent. In short, I painted myself as the villain.

Still—Adele had written back to me. She'd assured me that any differences I had with her granddaughter didn't affect the fact that she considered me a "friend."

She said that Sookie's inexperience would have encouraged a "lesser man" to try to lie to and take advantage of her. She admitted that she'd grown to think that violence was sometimes needed to drive out "worse violence." In other words, she refused to accept that I was "as bad as I pretended to be."

Obviously, she was as singular as her granddaughter, but she was "safer" to interact with.

Adele expressed her hope that I would eventually give the possibility of Sookie and me another chance.

But, even if I didn't, she asked me to keep writing to her—because I reminded her a little of her husband.

How could I refuse her?

It had been one of Adele's letters—sent a few months after Sookie and I had met—which "informed" me that Sookie had had a "nice time when she worked for me" in New Orleans. From a letter I'd gotten from Sookie the week earlier, I'd known that she was using me as an excuse to "get away."

In my next letter, I'd asked Adele leading questions about the supposed work trip. Adele had offered specific dates, even stating the name of the hotel Sookie had stayed in. The elderly woman had also admitted that she'd hoped that Sookie and I might rekindle our "courtship" during that trip. However, not long after, she'd learned that I was "with Dawn" and had pretty much given up hope that Sookie and I would ever be a couple. Unfortunately, Adele had waited to mention Dawn until after I'd ended things with her. In typical Adele fashion, she'd wanted to assure me that Dawn was "fine."

Of course, I didn't spill the beans that Sookie had made up the business trip to New Orleans, but I did investigate just what Sookie had been doing there.

She'd ordered several overpriced meals from her hotel's room service.

She'd been greeted at her hotel door by Gladiola on the first morning she'd been in the city. I didn't need to be a genius to know that she must have gone to visit the demon lawyer.

Needless to say, I destroyed the video of Gladiola making contact with Sookie.

Other than that one outing, however, Sookie had stuck to her room like glue.

It struck me that the trip to New Orleans had likely been Sookie's first "vacation."

But she hadn't done anything "fun."

And she'd pretended that the trip was "work" for Adele's sake.

I supposed that it had been work in Sookie's mind.

I could only speculate about the topics that Sookie had raised with Cataliades. I didn't dare contact the demon to ask him—just in case Sookie hadn't told him about "our" future.

I leaned back in my chair and swiveled.

Had I considered contacting Sookie about I million times to "work" for me?

Yes.

In fact, I'd wanted to contact her for a variety of reasons.

For her talent.

For her amazing blood.

For her company.

For more than I could express with words.

Sookie's proclamation that she "loved" me was a nightly memory—one I'd begun to treasure as soon as she'd uttered her words. However—I reminded myself that that proclamation was the main reason why I didn't contact her.

By the time I'd left her, I'd believed everything that Sookie told me about her future. And I had no doubt that there was a "me" who would be enthralled by her to the point that "I" would eventually come to love her enough to propel her back in time.

But Sookie's "first" future hadn't worked out well for either of us.

Especially not for her.

Plus, until the Appius situation was dealt with once and for all, I refused to add variables to my life. And Sookie Stackhouse was the mother of all variables.

Adele Stackhouse, however, was a "safe" source of "Sookie information"; plus, if anyone asked (which—let's face it—no one but Pam would), I could pretend that I was just indulging an old woman who liked history.

I leaned forward and opened Adele's letter.

Almost immediately, I was chuckling.

Complaints about Maxine Fortenberry and Caroline Bellefleur.

News that her grandson had become engaged to a nice girl named Michele Schubert, to whom Sookie had introduced him.

The news about Sookie was scant, but welcome nonetheless. She was taking the maximum number of college courses allowed by her college. She'd managed straight A's for the fall semester, except for her macroeconomics class, in which she'd earned a B+. With all the extra classes she was taking, Sookie was on track to have her Associate's Degree in accounting by that July. After that, she would try to find work in the field, even as she continued taking classes toward a bachelor's degree.

Unsurprisingly, Adele was as proud as could be.

The matriarch spent the rest of the letter commenting upon and asking about history—specifically, the "history" I'd experienced firsthand.

In my last letter to her, I'd given Adele some information about the Peasants' Revolt in fourteenth century England. She had several follow up questions about my commentary—as well as a query regarding what I'd found myself doing "next."

I chuckled. That was always Adele's final question in a letter. She always wanted to know what was "next."

Through our letters, I'd told her a lot about my experiences. Mostly I'd shared "innocent" historical snippets with her—though they were most certainly more than I'd ever shared with anyone else.

Sometimes I wondered if Sookie also read my letters. I wondered what she thought about the fact that I hadn't contacted her since our second meeting. I wondered if she missed me.

I wondered if she hated me for disappearing from her life.

I wondered a lot when it came to her. But I refused to allow myself to wander to her.


	15. I Hear the Clock Tick

Chapter 15: I Hear the Clock Tick

DECEMBER 24, 2007, 11:00 P.M.

APPOXOMIATELY TWO YEARS AFTER THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SOOKIE POV

Christmas Eve.

2007.

Today was the day I'd died—in Life 1, at least.

And the day was now almost over.

Almost survived.

One. More. Hour.

I had decided to mark the occasion with a whole bottle of champagne.

After all, my whole existence with vampires and witches and Weres and fairies had been replaced by peace and "normalcy" as I'd relived the days between "coming to" in Merlotte's walk-in—"Merlotte's Heaven—and now.

On December 22, I'd found myself the most nervous. After all, in Life 1, that had been the day that Niall's last round of enemies had come to kill Hunter and Remy, Jason and his family, and Sam.

That had been the day that I'd met Margie at the mall—the day I'd bought gifts for Sam that seemed like the things a fiancé would give—rather than something from just another friend.

Of course, this time around, Sam had enjoyed a very different life. He'd never had a dalliance with the Maenad. He'd not spent years "wondering" about me. Nope. In fact, a long time before Jannalynn could come sniffing around, Sam had married Maudette Pickens!

As a matter of fact, I'd been a bridesmaid at their wedding!

Their little girl, Adele (named for Gran), had had her second birthday the previous September. And Sam and Maudette had just found out that the child they were expecting in April was actually twins—two boys.

As I poured myself another glass of bubbly, I let myself sink into my memories—both sets of them.

It was funny the things that had stayed the same and the things that had changed.

Of course, I had been able to change quite a few things myself. For example, I'd been able to "distract" Jason with homemade chicken and dumplings on the night that he'd been fated to hook up with Crystal Norris. I'd also facilitated his meeting Michele "early." Just like in Life 1, however, they'd fallen in love quickly. And she was good for him. But, this time around, they didn't have a Marie. They had Joshua, who was almost a year older than Marie would have been. And they were expecting a set of twins in three months.

I chuckled. Sam and Jason had been toasting each other's "fertility" just the night before, even as Michele and Maudette had indulgently let them. However, unlike with Sam and Maudette's twins, Jason and Michele weren't certain of the genders of their children. Apparently, one child—a boy—had "shown" himself. And Jason had quickly dubbed him Corbett.

But kid number two was "shy," so his or her gender remained unknown. We'd nicknamed "him/her" Pat.

Corbett and Pat's ultrasound picture was on the refrigerator.

To my eyes, they both looked like blobs, though beautiful ones.

I took a big swig and remembered a blond little girl who would never be.

Marie's was the first life I mourned in Life 2. She was a child whom my meddling had snuffed from the world—an egg that didn't get fertilized. I cried for her often, even as I wondered what other horrible outcomes I'd inadvertently caused. It was enough to drive a person crazy.

But—whenever I was in danger of falling into despair—I focused on Joshua, who hadn't existed in Life 1. Little Adele hadn't been alive there either—let alone the twins Sam and Maudette were expecting. And the twins Jason and Michele were expecting.

So many other things had altered because of my influence on Life 2 too. And I prayed that they were mostly for the good.

Holly, who had begun working at Merlotte's before "planned," had—strangely enough—ended up marrying Andy Bellefleur. Halleigh Robinson, ironically, had ended up with Hoyt Fortenberry. But both couples seemed happy, despite their "inadvertent swap." And both had a kid each.

Arlene had quit before the shifters and Weres came out. Even better, Whit had married her, and they'd moved to a Dallas suburb before she could do any damage in Bon Temps. I was sad about Coby and Lisa being lost from my life. But—because of Arlene—I'd learned that some people just couldn't be positively influenced, even by someone who knew the future. Honestly, I just hoped that Coby and Lisa could overcome any of her "lessons" to them.

Dawn's outcome had also been interesting—to say the least. She had been a nice surprise in my life; in fact, I counted her as my closest friend!

After Eric was done with her, which was something I'd been able to confirm because of the massive glamour job done upon her—a glamour job which I'd sometimes fantasized was an apology of sorts—Dawn had begun dating Sid-Matt Lancaster of all people! A man who was Gran's age!

Dawn and Sid-Matt had married not a month after they'd started dating. I'd been a bridesmaid at their wedding too!

A lot of the people in Bon Temps had judged Dawn as being a "gold digger," but I knew better.

Since Sid-Matt's hip replacement, six months before, Dawn had wheeled her husband around dutifully and faithfully. And—despite the venom she got from a lot of people—Dawn held up her chin with pride. She was thankful for Sid-Matt. And—no offense to Eric—but Dawn cared for the octogenarian a hell of a lot more than she had for the bona fide millennial.

In fact, she loved the heck out of Sid-Matt!

And with good reason.

Sid-Matt respected Dawn and had encouraged her to get her education. For him the sun rose and set with her.

His thoughts had told me that he'd been waiting for eighty years to feel like she made him feel.

As surprising as it might have been, they were honest to God soul mates! And—from day one—their relationship was among the most heartfelt that I'd ever "heard" about. Thus, I treated them with as much kindness as I could. And, perhaps because of that, Dawn began to seek out a true friendship with me.

And—by a twist of fate (and time)—I was now closer to Dawn than I was to Tara!

Speaking of Tara, she'd gotten together with J.B. without ever having endured any "vampire drama" since I'd made a point to invite her for a girls' night out on the day that Life 1 me would have seen her in Jackson.

Ironically enough, because she'd never endured Mickey, Tara didn't really appreciate J.B., though she'd married him anyway. She was contemplating divorce even though she was pregnant with their second child.

Tara and J.B.'s child was my godchild, but Tara resented me for my education and my professional success. It was odd. I'd admired her for those things in Life 1.

I closed my eyes and sighed.

Marriages and children—and/or divorce—most of my friends were following this "normal" life pattern.

Even Lafayette had found a life-partner—in Terry Bellefleur of all people! I couldn't help but to wonder if Terry had been closeted during Life 1 or if Lafayette's charm could turn the head of even the straightest man.

It didn't really matter.

What mattered was that Terry certainly seemed happier now that he was "out." He still dealt with PTSD, but Lala loved him to distraction, and Terry smiled more than he ever had before. As in Life 1, Terry and his partner raised dogs rather than children.

Unlike in Life 1, the puppies were adorned with bedazzled collars.

Gran thrived more and more with each baby (or puppy) born—not just those belonging to relatives, but also those who belonged to friends. She'd smiled for a week when Sam and Maudette had named their daughter for her.

Gran's smiles had lasted even longer when Joshua was born.

And she had laughed louder than I'd ever heard her laugh when Michele had told her that one of the children she was carrying was too "shy" to let his or her gender be known. Gran had stopped just short of questioning the child's paternity!

Of course, both Gran and I knew that Michele would never cheat on Jason. Somehow, Michele thought that Jason was "perfect"—something I questioned her sanity about from time to time.

And, indeed, the thought of one of Jason's children being modest was quite amusing!

And—just a few hours before—Gran had smiled so wide that it looked fake when Dawn told us that she and Sid-Matt were expecting a child. Like me, Gran didn't judge her old friend for seeking out a younger woman. In fact, she applauded him and had invested a bit of her savings into Viagra because that stuff "had to be a miracle worker."

I'd invested too.

Of course, Gran was the honorary godmother/grandmother to several children—including Adele and Joshua, as well as Andy and Holly's newborn—and I made a point to babysit anytime I could so that Gran could experience the feeling of being around children again. She said it kept her young.

Still, she worried that I was alone—without a husband or children. So I made a point to smile a lot around her—even when it was pretend.

I'd become very good at pretending.

Meanwhile, despite being the only single person in my circle of friends, I couldn't imagine feeling more "normal," even though most of my friends considered me the least "normal" among them.

Oh well. It seemed as if I couldn't "win" no matter what I did.

In fact, I'd tried to "date" over the years—both for Gran and myself. But human contact was still not something I could tolerate.

And Weres? Honestly, I'd avoided them and all others of two natures—other than Sam and little Adele, of course. I didn't want to get involved in "Alcide drama" or Longtooth drama—though I'd heard from Sam that Colonel Flood was still in charge. I figured that was a good thing. Not surprisingly, I had taken pains to stay away from Hotshot. Calvin Norris was a nice guy, but he wasn't for me in Life 1, and he wouldn't be for me in Life 2 either!

And—as for vampires? Well—there was only one I trusted enough to want to be "with," and I'd not seen him in years.

Still—I'd tried with humans. But a single kiss had been one too many—for a variety of reasons.

At least most people no longer thought of me as "Crazy Sookie." And they certainly didn't attribute my "irregularities" to any kind of "extra" ability. Nope. Thanks to Eric's blood on the second night I'd been in Life 2, I'd had better control over my shields for a while. And, by the time that blood had worn out, I'd had the opportunity to perfect what I called my "robot skin." Now—even when my shields went to shit—I could keep a placid expression on my face. Not a crazy smile, but a neutral expression.

Even the Viking himself would be proud of my control.

The only things that tested my control nowadays were thoughts of Eric or Hunter. And I refused to think about them where I could be seen.

Yep—I was hiding in my bedroom as I drank my champagne.

I lifted my glass as if to toast my "other" self—my dead self.

Maybe, given my control and my "new" life, I was just as much of a vampire as Eric.

I took a long swig of champagne as I watched the clock change from Christmas Eve to Christmas.

It was a new day.

My first new day in a long, long time.

I sighed.

In private—I still allowed myself feelings of regret.

What I regretted most was keeping Hunter from Gran.

But, in the end, I knew—absolutely knew—that Hadley's name ought never to be spoken in the same sentence as the word "Stackhouse." Did that choice bring me guilt? Yes it did. Every hour. Every day.

But it was the kind of guilt that I could bear because no one had died because of that choice.

And saving people had become my modus operandi, a phrase I'd learned in my online Latin class.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2007, 3:00 A.M.

Somewhat surprisingly, despite my bottle of champagne, I'd been unable to sleep.

And—in the deep of the night—I found myself out in the cold, pulling weeds from my father's grave, which was where I spent quite a bit of my time nowadays.

Especially when I couldn't sleep.

Since it was quite cold outside, I had brought the old afghan with me. It always seemed to warm me.

It was Christmas, so I said a prayer.

I prayed for the safety of everyone I loved. I prayed that my parents were happy in Heaven. I prayed for all the children who were new to the world and for the others who would soon be born into it.

I prayed for the Viking living less than an hour from me.

I had made a point of attending every Sunday morning service in Life 2—even though I knew that humans' conception of the afterlife was limited. Still, I felt like having God on my side could only help. Plus, I liked what the current minister of Gran's church had to say. He tended to preach about the practical—about the good that people could do for one another. Heck—the previous Sunday—he'd had me saying "amen" right along with the rest of the congregation as he'd preached about the second chapter of the book of James.

"What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him?"

I knew the answer to that. Faith couldn't save a person, though I had plenty of faith to spare now. Faith in God. In Gran. In Eric. In myself.

But faith wasn't meant to save. I'd learned the hard way that it was meant to test a person. I figured that I'd failed that test in Life 1 when I'd drunk from the pen that Mr. Cataliades had given to me.

But it hadn't been faith that had given me another chance. It had been love—a vampire's love.

His wish. His work.

Indeed, the book of James taught that one's works—one's actions—could outweigh any lapses in faith. Or, at least, I hoped they could.

In Life 2, I'd done my best to have faith. But I'd also done good deeds whenever I could.

It was the "big" things that I had trouble knowing how to deal with: things like Hurricane Katrina and Rhodes. But, on the night I'd told him about those things, Eric had promised me that he'd see to them.

And I trusted him.

I had faith in him.

But sitting still and trusting had been very hard.

Strangely enough, in Life 2, I knew very little about vampire politics; of course, that was partly because vampires played their hands very close to the vest. And their public personas were likely nothing like their private ones.

From watching the news, I knew that Sophie-Anne was still undead and kicking—since she was often interviewed as an AVL spokesperson; I also could guess that the vampire population of Louisiana was thriving. When Hurricane Katrina didn't cause a catastrophic amount of damage, I'd felt a fair bit of satisfaction and relief, knowing that Eric had done exactly as he'd promised—taking care of what he could.

In Life 2, only nine people had died in Louisiana because of Hurricane Katrina. Too many. But not nearly as many as in Life 1.

In fact, when no horrible images of bodies outside of the Superdome or floating corpses in the streets of the Ninth Ward were shown on the news, I'd taken a trip to the cemetery to tell Daddy all about what Eric must have done, for—indeed—Daddy had become my confidant when it came to Life 1 versus Life 2.

And, then, less than a month later, no one had died because of a terror attack in Rhodes. Because one didn't happen! In fact, the summit had gone so well that a third one was going to be held there soon.

That wasn't to say that the Fellowship hadn't tried to plant their bombs. They were simply thwarted.

In fact, Steve Newlin was currently awaiting his sentencing because of the attempted attack on the Pyramid of Gizeh.

I somehow knew that Eric's hand had been guiding the changes in Rhodes too.

I looked to the east.

As the sun rose to light up Christmas morning, I wondered at the fact that I was now living a life that I hadn't lived before. I had no additional inside information on Supernatural activities.

Or sporting events.

It was just me—Sookie Stackhouse—flying blind.

I watched the sun until it lit all of Daddy's tombstone, and then I hurried home.

Gran—as always—was up already. She'd told me the year before that there wasn't a sunrise left in her life that she didn't intend to see.

I snuck into the house so as not to worry her, shivering as the heat of the dwelling "reminded" me just how cool it was outside.

In fact, the December morning had brought a little frost with it—though just enough to dust the still-green grass.

Avoiding the squeaky boards on the staircase, I hurried to my room.

As I looked out the window at the climbing sun, I determined—once and for all—that I wasn't in heaven or hell. That I wasn't crazy.

I really had been wished back into the past.

With that final recognition, a single name escaped my lips: "Eric."

I kept my eyes open and looked into sunlight that the vampire would never see. "Eric loved me enough to wish me here," I said firmly. "And that wish must have been epic," I added.

I vowed in that moment that—whenever I felt lonely—I would remember Eric's wish. It had been strong enough to send me back in time. It had been strong enough to bring back to life everyone who had died because of me. It had been strong enough to give me the "normal life" I'd always told Eric that I wanted.

Epic, indeed.

I'd stopped doubting Eric's love for me even before the end of Life 1, but now—knowing what his love was capable of doing when combined with a little fairy magic—I was truly in awe of it.

Maybe it was because of that love that I'd not been tempted to seek a romantic relationship in Life 2.

Because, really, who could live up to Eric Northman?

That wasn't to say that I didn't long for companionship, but it was Eric's companionship I ached for. Every. Single. Day.

As I looked into the light of the first full day that I would be living for the first time in years, I thought about all the Erics I had known.

The first—a rascal who'd wanted to make me his. An unrelenting flirt who frustrated me as much as he intrigued me.

The second—innocent and memoryless. Almost falling in love with me. Always showing an interest in all that I was. Willing to give up his "real" life to stay with me.

The third—the Eric who had gotten back all of his memories, except for the ones we'd made together. Confused and frustrated as he was, he'd still stepped in to save me from Mickey, the Pelts, and Andre. He'd endured my suspicions and my coldness. And I'd never even had to tell him why I often behaved so coldly toward him. I'd never had to admit that it was because I was scared of being rejected by the face of the man I'd fallen in love with. That Eric had only demanded "what's" from me, not "why's." I was pretty sure that was because he knew what I needed—even then.

The fourth—the Eric who remembered everything, including how he'd behaved with me when he was cursed by Hallow. I'd watched him actively trying to reconcile his feelings for me. He'd mourned when he'd failed to protect me from Neave and Lochlan. He'd plotted to try to "keep" me even as our world began to spin out of his control. I gazed into the sun and remembered what his eyes had looked like when I'd rejected—when I'd killed—our blood bond.

I had never seen anyone look so lost until I'd looked in the mirror following his departure to Oklahoma. Only then had I understood. Only then had I wept for our bond.

And, of course, that Eric—the very one that I'd rejected—had been the one who had wished me through space and time.

He had loved me through space and time!

The very thought of him took my breath away.

And then there was the last Eric I'd met—the one who was, ironically enough, the closest to the first. And the closest to the last, too.

The one to whom I'd given all the knowledge I could imagine would benefit him.

I had grown to love all of the Erics I had known, appreciating every moment I'd had with them. And, though I knew that I'd disappointed Gran because I didn't get married or give her any of the babies she fawned over, I just couldn't imagined loving anyone who wasn't an Eric.

But I did give Gran all that I could. Thanks to the fact that I had continued to bet on every sporting event I could recall, the mortgage was paid off, the property taxes were paid in advance, new gutters had been installed, and the front porch had been screened in. The porch swing had a comfortable new complement—an outdoor chair that looked and "felt" like a recliner. In fact, anything that had entered Gran's mind as a "need" or "want" for the house during the past two and a half years had been gotten.

And Gran's pride in our home couldn't be measured. In fact, sometimes she just walked around the house, appreciating the fresh paint. Or she'd just turn on the back left burner of the stove because she could—because it had been broken for a decade before I'd been able to surprise her on her birthday with a totally functioning range.

Even though I now no longer would be betting on sporting events, I had learned how to catch my own "fish"—so to speak. I was already getting paid to do the accounting work for three businesses. And—as soon as I had my bachelor's degree—I planned to open my own little accounting firm.

Still, I kept a weathered eye on the horizon, looking for any problems. But I also let myself contemplate the future.

Even if I wasn't in it for some reason.

I'd saved enough money to make sure that Gran would never want for anything.

There was enough in my savings account for Jason and his family to have a nice cushion, too.

A part of me wondered if I shouldn't just wander off into the sunrise I was witnessing—taking any potential future problems with me. But I knew I couldn't leave Gran.

I smiled a little as I thought about her.

She always said that the future was the thing to live for, but I also recognized a likely truth—that my future would be lonely.

Gran would eventually die of old age. The lives of those around me would move in ways that mine never would. However, I had done all I could for them—with the lessons I'd learned from Life 1.

But that life was over now.

And I was in uncharted waters. I just prayed that I wouldn't somehow sink the boat I'd built.


	16. Watching through Windows

Chapter 16: Watching through Windows

SUNDAY, JANUARY 2, 2011

APPROXIMATELY THREE YEARS LATER

ERIC POV

The next vampire summit, which was planned for early March, was to take place in Rhodes again—for the sixth time in as many years. However, it would be my first time attending. Queen Sophie-Anne generally enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of the events too much to miss them. But she knew I didn't care for them, so—thankfully—she'd never asked me to go before.

In fact—except for the 2005 gathering, which had taken place less than a month after Hurricane Katrina—Sophie-Anne had attended all of the Rhodes summits, even functioning as a member of the Vampire Council for the last two. The events had become more lavish and grand each year. In fact, most vampires now considered Rhodes to be "the event of the year." And, even some European monarchs had begun to attend.

This year, the queen had asked for me to attend since she wanted to broker several trade agreements with other kingdoms. Apparently, she'd be too busy with Vampire Council duties—and with "networking"—to deal with them.

And Andre wasn't exactly known for his "statesmanship," so the task had fallen to me.

Though the preparations for the trade negotiations were tedious, I was fine with doing the work. The allies Sophie-Anne wanted to court were reasonable, and doing business with them would be beneficial for Louisiana, which continued to thrive, even as the monarchs in the states that had negatively affected Louisiana during Sookie's first life had fallen—one by one.

Spurred on by unrest created by my very creative child, Karin, Victor Madden had "somehow" gotten the idea in his head that if he killed King Felipe, he would have the support of not only the vampires of Nevada, but also the Vampire Council.

Wisely, my child had played on Victor's ambitions and vanity.

According to his behavior in Sookie's first life, Victor was certainly the sort to commit treason and regicide, and he certainly didn't disappoint. In fact, Victor killed Felipe two years before—at the Rhodes summit! Sophie-Anne had told me that it had been gruesome—and scandalous! In other words, it had been the most talked about event of the summit and had increased the event's popularity exponentially.

I had greatly enjoyed the gossip! With a "triumphant yawp,"—as Andre described it—Victor had staked Felipe at the opening reception of the summit. He clearly expected the Vampire Council to celebrate his act and appoint him as the new King of Nevada. The delusional fool had anticipated that he'd be welcomed to complete Nevada's business at the summit as if he'd not just committed regicide!

Needless to say, the Vampire Council in place at the time, including Sophie-Anne, did not "welcome" Victor to the monarch club. He was wrapped in silver chains, put in a silver-lined coffin, and "FedEx'ed" to Nevada, where Felipe's loyal followers were waiting for him. Sadly, I have since heard that he was killed quickly—though he did keep blaming a vampiress named Catherine for everything—not that an accomplice was ever found.

In fact, most people thought that Victor had made her up.

Funny—I happened to know that one of Karin's aliases over the years had been Catherine.

I chuckled at the memory of Karin calling me to thank me for the task of dealing with the Caped Crusader and the Penguin—which were her nicknames for de Castro and Madden. In turn, I complimented her "style" in carrying out the task.

And—most importantly—I was pleased that she'd not implicated herself. When I'd suggested that she retire "Catherine" for a while, she asked me who Catherine was before hanging up.

Like I said—style.

With the blessing of the Vampire Council, Sandy Sechrest had become Nevada's monarch.

A king had also been replaced by a queen in Arkansas. Peter Threadgill had finally pissed off Jade Flower enough for her to end him. I thought that Arkansas was the better for it. Sophie-Anne and Jade actually seemed to work very well together, and they'd quickly settled the border dispute between Louisiana and Arkansas in a way that pleased both states and proved just how much of a douche Peter Threadgill had been.

Sophie-Anne continued to thrive on her post-Katrina fame. She liked being loved. She and Stan Davis of Texas had actually married two years before, and the alliance had been good for both Louisiana and Texas.

Pam had made the child that Sookie had reported that she would want to make: Miriam. I liked my new "grandchild" very much; she'd been turned before her cancer had progressed too far, and she was quite strong for a newborn.

Sadly, the Appius issue had not been resolved yet. However, he'd stayed pretty "quiet," and I'd kept track of him. Unfortunately, I figured that things would soon come to a head since it was rumored that Alexei was up to his old ways again—meaning that he'd killed in a way that had been deemed "inconvenient" to our kind.

Of course, at this point, I wondered if Appius's actions would even matter anymore. Sophie-Anne could be a bitch to her enemies, but I doubted that she'd allow my maker to sell me off. I'd been loyal to her, and Sophie-Anne was smart enough to value me. And—even if she did let Appius broker me to another monarch in restitution for something Alexei did—what would it matter if I were a consort in Kingdom X versus the Sheriff of Area 5?

"It isn't as if I have a bonded wife to take into account," I muttered to myself, with more regret than I should have had, given the brevity of my interactions with Sookie Stackhouse.

And—as for her? I no longer felt Sookie in my blood at all, and—since her "premonitions" had run their course—she really shouldn't have had any influence upon my life.

However, I still thought about her nightly.

Several times.

Adele had passed away the year before—in her sleep. According to her obituary, she'd "enjoyed visiting with her great-grandchildren and her 'honorary' great-grandchildren on the day of her death." She'd also "baked up a storm," and the house had "bustled with the usual Sunday dinner gathering" just hours before she "read a bit, wrote a letter to a friend, and turned in for the night." Seemingly, Adele had behaved "just like always." And her "granddaughter Sookie had found her the next morning—looking as if she were dreaming of something pleasant."

The funeral had been held during the daytime, but I had sent Adele flowers—pink lilies.

I missed her.

And I missed knowing Sookie through her.

A knock sounded at my door, and Pam entered even before I could instruct her to. Her hand was on her hip.

I could tell that she was worried about me.

As always, she showed it with snark and insolence.

Of course, Fangtasia was closed on Sunday night, but I conducted sheriff's business in the club, so I looked up at my second expectantly. "Tonight's docket?"

"Practically empty," she returned with a bored tone. "There are two check-ins. Miriam's already used her computer wizardry to run background checks on them. They're clean as far as the human authorities go. And they're in Alastair 3.0."

"Their makers?" I asked. One could tell a lot about a vampire from his or her maker.

Usually.

Unless one's maker was like Appius.

Pam handed me a file. "The pair have the same maker."

"Vampire siblings," I commented. It wasn't unusual for them to move around together. "How old?"

"One is around three hundred; the other is half that age. They are also long-term lovers."

I nodded. That wasn't unusual either among vampire siblings, though humans generally balked at the concept.

I took the file and scanned it. The pair were moving to Louisiana from Atlantic City where they'd worked—successfully—for their maker in the casino business. They were wanting to make their own way independent from him and were hoping to find work in one of my casinos.

"I know their maker," I commented, looking at the name listed. "I'll give him a call before I meet with his children. Anything else?"

"No," Pam said drolly. "Nothing except that Thalia has once again petitioned to get out of Fangtasia duty."

I chuckled. The ancient had enjoyed her five years away from Fangtasia so much that she petitioned for a replacement task each week. "This is her lucky week," I chuckled.

"Oh?" Pam asked with interest. "You found something for Thalia to do?"

"Yes," I responded.

"Do tell," she requested.

"No," I said curtly.

Pam pouted, but—when I gave her a look cautioning her not to question me—she didn't.

Wise girl.

As a matter of fact, I'd decided that Thalia would be joining Bubba as Hunter's "watcher." Bubba had let slip that he'd made contact with the boy and was his friend, something that I didn't mind as long as he didn't let that same information "slip" in front of other ears. The good news was that Bubba seemed clueless that the kid was telepathic. Still, I wanted Thalia to watch over the boy as Bubba's back-up—just in case.

"Should I get you something to snack on for after your meetings?" Pam asked me. "A new Whole Foods has opened a couple of miles from here, and the fare from there is always fresh," she added significantly.

"No—I have already had bagged tonight," I said.

Pam frowned. "You don't feed enough."

"Of course I do," I responded. "I am rosy-cheeked and strong," I added with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "Correction—you don't fuck enough!"

"I fuck when I want," I told her evenly.

"Something has happened to you in the last six or seven years," she frowned. "I don't like it. You've become," she paused, "too womanly."

I chuckled at her word choice. "But, Pamela," I joked, "women are the strongest creatures I know. Thus, becoming more like one could only be a good thing—correct?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Correct! But you know what I mean! If I didn't know better, I would think that you were pining over someone."

I brushed off her concern with a wave of my hand. "We've been over this before. I am simply tired of fangbangers."

"But you don't even have any standing appointments with non-fangbangers anymore," she frowned.

"Except for my standing Sunday night date," I corrected.

"Visiting the grave of a dead woman isn't what I'm talking about," she said, hands on hips again.

"Come now, Pamela. You are dead, and I would have no qualms about visiting your grave," I leered suggestively, though I knew she'd be able to tell that I was kidding her.

"Gross," she shivered in an exaggerated way. "Plus, Miriam would stake you. She's still not over her monogamy phase."

"What if she's never over it?" I teased.

"Don't say such things!" Pam ordered, though I knew that she was secretly fine with the monogamous relationship she had with her child. They both fed from others—obviously—but only from men. They had a physical relationship only with one another.

They were happy together, and I was happy for them.

"Anyway," Pam said. "You are trying to distract me from my point that you need to fuck more often. I fuck plenty," she added.

"I fuck plenty, too," I said. And I did. Certainly, I didn't feel the urge to fuck every night anymore. But—when I had the need—I didn't stop myself. Yes, part of my "cutting back" had to do with a Stackhouse woman—though certainly not the one Pam teased me about. However, it wasn't as if I'd become celibate.

"Choosier" was the word I liked to use. Indeed, drinking bagged blood was much more pleasant than choking down the blood of a drug-addled fangbanger after getting a substandard blow job or fucking a pussy so loose that I could hardly feel any pleasure.

So what if I still fantasized about the body and blood of a certain blond telepath that I tried not to think about every night?

Several times.

"You can send in Thalia in twenty minutes," I told my child, dismissing her with my tone.

Pam made sure to roll her eyes one more time on her way out.

MONDAY, JANUARY 3, 2011

SOOKIE POV

Gran had always been an early riser. In fact, the last time she'd needed to be awoken was the last year that Jason had believed in Santa Claus, for no presents got to be opened without the whole family present. Not even Santa's presents.

And—at eleven years old—Jason had figured that 4:00 a.m. was morning enough when Santa was involved. First, he'd woken me up. And then he'd woken her up.

Yes—that was the last time I could remember Gran sleeping later than me.

So I'd known on the day that Gran had passed away that she was gone; I'd known as soon as I'd not heard the bustle of her thoughts when I'd woken up.

Sunday, January 10, 2010, had been Gran's last day alive.

"Almost a year," I whispered to myself as I tidied up the kitchen.

Gran's kitchen.

A kitchen where she hadn't died.

A kitchen which had seen no violence. No blood except for little cuts from chopping onions and the like.

A kitchen that hadn't heard the sound of gunfire.

A kitchen that hadn't been burned down.

A kitchen that René had never stepped foot into. Debbie Pelt had never stepped foot into. Charles Twining had never stepped foot into.

I closed my eyes as I dried Gran's favorite casserole dish, which hadn't been lost in the fire.

Even before the coroner had come to take Gran's body away the year before, I had reconciled myself with the fact that nothing had been amiss on the night she'd gone to bed for the last time.

In fact, her thoughts had been buzzing with joy.

She had spent her last morning spoiling Stephanie Lynn Lancaster. Stephanie was truly the most beautiful child I'd ever seen, and everyone doted on her, especially Gran.

And then there had been Sunday supper with Jason, Michele and their five children, including a second set of twins who were only two months old. The running joke was that the Bon Temp's water supply had to encourage twins since Sam and Maudette were expecting another pair as well. Maudette's bedrest was the reason why Sam, she, and their kids hadn't come to Sunday supper.

But Dawn and Sid-Matt had come, of course.

I chuckled. How else could they have seen their little girl on a Sunday—given the fact that Stephanie had been so attached to Gran and liked to "help" her bake? Gran had thrived on the little girl's affection, and Stephanie had been inconsolable for a while after Gran was gone.

But—like all children—she'd rebounded.

Gran's last night on earth had been a truly beautiful night. She'd slowed down a bit by then, so I'd cooked the meal for Sunday Supper, but she had made quite a few desserts, including pecan pie.

My favorite.

After our company had left, Gran had capped off her evening with a glass of sherry and a chapter of her romance novel. Then she'd re-read Eric's latest letter and had even begun writing her response to him. I'd made sure he'd gotten it, along with a note about her passing and a copy of her obituary.

Eric had sent an amazing array of pink lilies—Gran's favorites—for the funeral. And he'd written her one last letter. I'd left it unopened and placed it in her coffin with all of the others he'd written, tied together into a bunch with an old ribbon I'd found in Gran's jewelry box. Gran had adored Eric by the end, and it had seemed right to let her have a little part of him that was all her own—even if I did envy her that.

Plus, I didn't want to be tempted to read the letters, and I knew that I would be. But they hadn't been addressed to me, so reading them would have been wrong. I was glad that I'd made sure that they were with her in the end.

In the year since Gran had passed, I'd made a point to become an early riser—I suppose as some sort of tribute or remembrance to her. Rain or shine, I would take a cup of coffee to her graveside. And I would tell her about my upcoming day as the sun snaked its rays through the trees or was snuffed out by the clouds in the sky.

It didn't matter as long as I got to share the beginnings of my days with Gran.

Every Monday morning, I would find a dozen fresh lilies on Gran's grave, as well as a small bunch of white daisies—my favorites. The flowers could have been from only one person: Eric.

I always looked forward to "talking" to Gran, but I especially enjoyed Mondays—when I felt closer to Eric too. I boldly interpreted the daisies as a sign that he'd not forgotten about me, and I always took them with me when I left Gran's grave on Mondays.

I spoke to Gran about everything, including the accounting firm I'd started, which was now flourishing. I told her about her great-grandchildren. I told her about her godchildren. I told her about Maxine's antics and about other town gossip. And—finally—I told her about my previous life. I told her that her "secret" wish for me had actually come true in Life 1: I had ended up as Eric's wife. I also told her about how I'd squandered that chance.

I laughed and blushed "with" Gran about the irony that I was the oldest virgin I knew—even though I had vivid memories of Eric's gracious plenty. Very vivid ones!

I apologized for not telling her about Hunter and Hadley. I apologized for not sharing Life 1 with her before her death. My only excuse had been the fact that I refused to "jinx" us as long as Gran was safe and alive.

In addition, I let myself be angry at Gran for never telling me about Fintan. I had caught her thinking about him a time or two during her last years. So I knew that she was "scared" to talk about him with me. It wasn't even that she was ashamed of her adultery—though she was. She'd kept quiet because Fintan had told her many times that no one could know that their children had fairy blood—not even Daddy and Aunt Linda—or they'd be in terrible danger. Gran didn't want to frighten me, and she was afraid that if anyone found out—even me—that there would be horrible consequences.

Of course, her worries had turned out to be completely justified. But I still wished that she would have confided in me. In the end, however, I understood. We'd both had our secrets that we'd kept for the "greater good."

Sometimes—when I didn't have anything new to report—I just read to Gran at her grave. Always seedy romance novels about pirates or knights or kings or poor stable boys.

But never about Vikings. I just couldn't bring myself to do that.

In Life 1, I might have deserved the punishment of reading about Eric-like Vikings pillaging a variety of women, but—in Life 2—I'd been as meticulous as Eric could have ever been when it came to protecting those who were "mine."

Yes—saving others from their possible fates had been my main job for years. And, despite having no more knowledge of future happenings, I still kept close tabs on the Supernatural elements in the area. Of course, I figured that the Fates would eventually step in and have their way with me, but I could take that.

I would take that.

I'd let the Fates have their revenge upon me for stealing their thunder—just as long as the people I loved lived long, happy lives.

Just like Gran.

As always—since it was a Monday—there were fresh flowers on Gran's grave; I took the bunch of daisies with me when I left and replaced last week's bunch with them in the pretty vase I'd gotten just to hold my weekly contact with Eric.

It was just a little thing.

But it was everything too.


	17. Confusion Is Nothing New

Chapter 17: Confusion Is Nothing New

FRIDAY, MARCH 11, 2011

APPROXIMATELY THREE MONTHS LATER

ERIC POV

I admired my room at the Pyramid of Gizeh hotel; however, I "admired" my fire-proof, bomb-proof coffin even more. The luxurious, vampire-friendly hotel—obviously—had not been razed to the ground. But—as always—Sookie's warnings remained a cautionary tale in my mind. In fact, my travel coffin was virtually indestructible, and I'd invested heavily in the technology for such vessels.

More money for me.

Less danger.

Win. Win.

Of course, I had slept in my travel coffin during all of my days in Rhodes.

Just in case.

Sophie-Anne and Andre had similar coffins. They'd been a Christmas gift from me several years before.

Just in case.

And I was glad to be leaving the next night—the night before the ball that would mark the official end of the summit.

Just in case.

The Fellowship was much weaker than they'd once been, but that didn't mean I would fail in my vigilance.

Luckily, Sophie-Anne didn't mind if I left Rhodes after my work was finished. And, of course, I had somewhere better to be on Sunday night. I had a friend to visit and flowers to deliver.

I closed my eyes and spent a moment thinking about Sookie and Adele, before I reviewed my schedule for the night.

First up was a short meeting to finalize the trade agreements I'd negotiated. Boring, but easy—since the previous meetings that week had gone so smoothly.

Ironically enough, one of my functions the night before had been to perform the marriage ceremony of Freyda of Oklahoma and Jade Flower of Arkansas. I had been—understandably—anxious for Freyda to be "out of commission" for a century. And, since the "three queens"—as Sophie-Anne, Freyda, and Jade had become known—were close allies now, I'd been tasked with performing the ceremony.

The wedding had taken fifteen minutes, during which time I'd fantasized about different ways to kill Quinn.

Of course, he'd never had reason to bother Sookie this time around, but his presence still irked me. Pam would have said that he deserved to die just for his ridiculous Genie pants.

And she would have been right.

That unpleasantness aside, the night had been a good one. Freyda barely looked at me as she and Jade "tied the knot." Apparently, there was some true affection between the queens.

Good for them. Better for me.

After my meeting, my last duty at the summit would be to attend a rather inconsequential trial concerning the monarchs of Alaska and Minnesota. After that, I planned to socialize with Alastair, who was at the summit peddling "our" wares—not that many people knew they were "ours."

I was looking forward to talking with him, however, and hoped he might have news about Appius and Alexei.

THREE HOURS LATER

After my obligations to Louisiana were fulfilled, I returned to my room to put away my copies of the trade agreements and change into jeans and a T-shirt in anticipation of my meeting with Alastair.

I felt better as soon as I was out of my "monkey suit," and I left my room five minutes before I was to meet Alastair in his.

"Eric Northman," a voice said from behind me as I approached the elevator bank.

I'd not heard the voice for centuries.  
"Marion," I responded even as I turned and sank to my knees before her.

Alastair's maker was dressed all in black, except for an emerald green brooch on her bodice. Alastair hadn't told me she would be present at the summit. In fact, I wondered if he knew that she was there.

"Your audience is requested," she said in a low voice only I would hear.

I nodded immediately. "Anything you wish is something I will grant," I said sincerely to the vampire who had once convinced me that I was worth a damn—the vampire who had helped me put myself together again after Rome.

Marion smiled at me and lifted my face so that my eyes were meeting hers. "Go to suite 1041, Eric Northman. And do not worry about missing your appointment with my child. I will be happy to visit with him in your stead this night."

I nodded and immediately went to the elevator. I didn't question Marion.

For I respected her a hundred times more than my own maker.

A woman in a sheer red gown reminiscent of a toga admitted me to suite 1041. I recognized the woman immediately, though I didn't know her face or name. Any vampire over one hundred years old would have recognized her, however; she was one of the handmaidens of the Ancient Pythoness.

I was already bowing by the time I was in the ancient lady's presence.

The half dozen handmaidens surrounding the seer disappeared silently and immediately from the main room of the suite.

I knelt before the Ancient Pythoness—because I wanted to.

Because I felt that she deserved it.

The elder vampiress chuckled gleefully. "You kneel, Eric of the North? That is a funny thing. You—who have cheated death. Cheated weather. Cheated time itself."

I looked up at her, knowing that lying to her would be useless. "I had help cheating."

She laughed. "Oh—I know. Sookie Stackhouse. It has been interesting these past years as I've monitored another 'seer' at work."

"Sookie is not that," I said firmly, praying that the ancient creature before me didn't see the young woman as a threat.

"No," the vampiress agreed. "She is not." She shook her head. "You know—I watched this hotel fall to the ground. Years ago! I saw your queen die. I witnessed Felipe de Castro taking over Louisiana. A saw you prostituted to Oklahoma. I witnessed Sookie losing everything in her life before her great-grandfather gave away her soul too. I saw Sookie die."

"Die?" my voice croaked.

"Yes," she nodded gravely. "Sookie did die. But your love was enough to yank her back from the very jaws of death. It was enough to send her to the place—the time—where she could be safe and happy. That was your wish—you know."

"I didn't know what my wish could have been. I had no way of knowing."

The Ancient Pythoness nodded to me in deference. It was fucking surreal!

"Has she been happy—this time?" I found myself asking.

The vampiress smiled knowingly. "In a manner of speaking. Mostly—she has been waiting."

"Waiting?" I asked.

"Hmm," she sounded noncommittally. "You know—a fairy cluviel dor is activated by love," she said knowingly. "In my long time, I have seen the effects of several of them. However, neither the wishes nor the cluviel dors themselves are equal. By the way, the object you wished upon wasn't particularly noteworthy. In fact, it was substandard as far as cluviel dors go. But the intensity of your love for Sookie Stackhouse transformed that weak fairy charm into a rebel of time and space."

"I do not love her," I said.

She laughed. "You've not allowed yourself to know her in this life—this time."

"Hasn't that been better for her?" I challenged.

"Has it?"

"My involvement in her other life brought too much danger to her," I said, shaking my head. "It would have been selfish to do that to her again."

"When did you become unselfish?" she asked with amusement.

"I'm not. He was. But she makes me want to be a . . . ." My voice trailed off with my begun confession.

"You worry about your maker—do you not?" the elder vampiress asked me.

I tensed. "Appius was ultimately responsible for Sookie and her Eric's end before," I said. "I've contemplated every aspect of the past life Sookie told me about. Without Appius entering the picture, Sookie and the other me would have continued to progress in their relationship. Because of Appius, they stalled, and Sookie broke the blood bond."

"Appius did not force her to do that," the vampiress said with a slight glint in her clouded eyes.

The sight was—off-putting.

"No. Even before Appius arrived, Sookie had considered breaking the bond because she was scared that it was forcing her to feel certain things—to behave in certain ways," I owned. "But she said that seeing me around Appius—knowing that I could, indeed, be controlled by him—scared her. Once he was dead, she recognized that I was happy that my bond with him was gone—happy to be free."

"Yes—I can see why that would have ultimately solidified her choice to allow the witch to break your bond," the Ancient Pythoness commented.

"Her bond with the other me," I corrected. "Sookie told me that she might have broken it regardless. However, even if she had done so, the other me would have likely continued bothering Sookie until there was a new bond between them."

The vampiress chuckled. "Unrelenting."

I shook my head. "No stubborn. Clearly that me wanted Sookie with all that he was. He sacrificed for her—more than once. But, when Appius sold him, his hands became all but tied."

"You worry that Appius would sell you even now—in this life," the lady said knowingly.

I shrugged. "Oh course he would. Even if the notion doesn't occur to him for another hundred years, it will eventually. I am in a trap. Eventually, Alexei will do something that will call for extreme punishment—as he did in Sookie's other life. It seems to me that Appius was keen to suggest bartering my services in exchange for Alexei. Freyda took him up on his offer because she saw a use for me that outweighed her desire to punish the whelp."

"And your maker did not hesitate to sell one hundred years of your existence," she commented.

"I'm sure he didn't. I'm sure he won't.

"One might think that killing Alexei would solve your problems," she observed.

I scoffed. "The last time Appius faced disappointment regarding the loss of a child, things did not go well for me," I said gravely.

"That is why you have released your second child," she noted.

"Yes. I will not be made to compel either of my children at my maker's bidding. And I will not incorporate people into my life whom he could use against me."

"People like Sookie Stackhouse. But she is in your life. What of the white daisies?"

I frowned. "They are just a little thing—to let her know that I am still there. That I still care."

"Just as the letters to her Gran were." She leaned forward. "You asked about Sookie in those letters? You asked about her—hoping that she would hear that you still . . . ."

"Gave a damn. Yes," I nodded. "But I ought not to have done even that."

"Why not?"

"You say you saw her other life. Has she not already gone through enough torment?" I challenged. "It seems that, as long as Appius in is my life, Sookie is far better off out of it. I couldn't protect her from him."

"Which is why you want your maker dead," the ancient vampiress stated knowingly.

Though it was physically painful to me, I nodded slightly in confirmation, but I couldn't speak my wish aloud. Apparently, my long-ago command from Appius prevented me even that much freedom.

"You have already assured your own freedom, Viking," the Ancient Pythoness said after a few moments of silence had passed between us. "A chain is in motion even now."

"A chain?" I asked.

"A chain of events," she clarified. "An ancient dislike—that had been held in check. Until now."

I frowned, not understand her meaning.

"Marion," she voiced. "She has wanted to end your maker for years, but he is strong, and the situation had not been favorable for an attempt."

"Why does she want Appius finally dead?" I asked.

"She is fond of you, so his treatment of you in Rome would have been enough."

I cringed at the memory.

"However, her hatred of him goes well beyond that," the Ancient Pythoness conveyed. "You see—before Alastair—she had another child, Gregor. This was long before you came to be. Appius killed Gregor for a relatively minor thing. Marion could do nothing, for her child had been—strictly speaking—in the wrong."

"What did the child do?" I asked.

"Gregor was supposed to be guarding the nest that both Appius and Marion were living in at the time. The child failed to recognize a threat; however, once Gregor realized his error, he fought bravely to protect the nest, and none of his nest-mates were killed. As the eldest member of the nest, Appius was given the right to punish Gregor, and—despite the child's ultimate bravery—Appius killed him. However, it wasn't truly for Gregor's error that Appius killed him. You see, Appius wanted Gregor to be his lover, but Gregor refused him, though he was not adverse to male lovers. Gregor was not shy in his disdain for your maker," she added significantly.

I found myself sinking down a little, even though I was still on my knees. "His rejection shamed Appius," I observed grimly.

The Ancient Pythoness nodded. "Yes. And he died for it. Marion left the nest not long after that, but her hatred has not left her. Your recent actions on behalf of Alastair have only added to her motivation. Plus, you inadvertently gave her opportunity several years ago when you asked Alastair to aid you regarding Appius and Alexei. Because of that, Alastair is well-liked and well-trusted by your maker. And Appius is too distracted with Alexei to focus on what he should."

"On who Alastair's maker is," I commented.

She nodded.

"I cannot be involved. I shouldn't even know anything about her plans," I whispered.

"I've told you nothing," the Ancient Pythoness smirked, her glossy eyes seeming to almost twinkle. "I implied. You inferred. You know of no specific plot against your maker. And you cannot tell about that which you do not know."

"True," I agreed.

"Stand, Eric the North Man," she said.

I rose as commanded.

I looked down at the floor and then into the eyes of the seer before me. There was but one thing to say.

"Thank you. I owe you. I owe her. I will serve at any time and in any way you request." I bowed. "Please relay my thanks and obligation to Marion as well."

The elder vampiress nodded to me. "I will pass along your message, Viking."

Again there was silence, and I wondered if I had been dismissed.

Finally, she spoke. "You long for Sookie Stackhouse, even though you were not the one to save her."

Again, I felt no need to lie. "I do long for her—as a desert longs for the rain."

"Will you go to her when," she paused, "all impediments are gone?"

"I do not know. I want to. But her other life. She was hurt to the point of destroying herself. I fear for her well-being if I go to her," I answered honestly. "I find myself," I paused, "unsure about what would be best—for her."

"I will tell you a secret, Viking," the seer whispered, her eyes glazing over as if she were being transported.

"What?"

"Sookie Stackhouse longs for you too. Even now, she focuses most of her energy on ensuring that those around her live on in peace. She keeps nothing for herself," the ancient vampiress shared, her voice almost chant-like.

"I want her," I found myself saying—despite myself. "More than anything. Even though I am not her Eric."

"Do you fear that? Fear that you will not live up to him?" she probed.

"Yes."

"You have already lived up to him," she said firmly. "Most of your actions for the last several years have been seeded in what she told you." She paused for a moment. "Your actions have grown from a pull that would draw you two together in any place—in any time. Sookie Stackhouse loves you. YOU," she emphasized as if there were no question about it.

"I love her as well," I admitted.

"Of course you do," she said matter-of-factly. "Few love stories have thrilled me like yours."

I bowed before her, taking to my knees again like a child. "Tell me—please," I begged. "How does the story turn out?"

"I have seen it twice now," she said her eyes taking on a faraway look again. "The first time, it was a tragedy."

"And this time?" I asked.

"Have you not been doing all that you could to change the nature of the story?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Her too," she remarked.

"Have we done enough?" I pushed.

She seemed to come back to herself. "Wouldn't telling you ruin the fun of your finding out on your own?" she smirked.

"No," I responded quickly.

"I suppose it wouldn't," she chuckled before becoming serious again. "All lives contain tragedy and pain, Man of the North. These things are inevitable. However, the story I see for you and Sookie Stackhouse in this life—in this time—is a beautiful one."

I felt a tear slipping down my cheek.

Gratitude. Hope.

I stood again.

"Will she hate me for the time it has taken to do what was needed to make sure she stays safe?"

She chuckled. "Time you gave her?" She shook her head. "It seems that even a thousand-year-old man is clueless when it comes to the inner-workings within a woman's heart. You worry that she will hate you for leaving her alone for so long. Is it not just as possible that she will love you all the more for denying your own desires until you were certain she would be safe?"

Before I could respond, the Ancient Pythoness's handmaidens entered the room as if out of thin air, and I was escorted out.

"Not much longer. Time is on your side now, Viking," the seer whispered right before the door shut behind me.


	18. Caught Up In Circles

Chapter 18: Caught Up In Circles

MONDAY, JUNE 13, 2011

APPROXIMATELY THREE MONTHS LATER

SOOKIE POV

New lilies and daisies were always left on Gran's grave on Sunday nights.

Pink lilies—Gran's favorites.

White daisies—my favorites.

I sometimes wondered how Eric knew they were my favorites. Maybe Gran had mentioned it in one of her letters.

Regardless of how he knew, I would always find them next to Gran's lilies on Monday mornings when I went to visit Gran's grave.

I'd come to count on those flowers; they were the only connection I still had to Eric. More importantly, they were the only way I knew for sure that he was safe!

Thus, when I saw only last week's wilted lilies on Gran's grave, I worried.

Was Eric okay? Had he been silvered or staked?

I took several deep breaths to calm myself.

It was more likely that Eric was just out of town. Or maybe he'd had a meeting or something and couldn't make his usual delivery.

Or—maybe Eric didn't bring the flowers at all. I could imagine Bobby being tasked with the job. Maybe it was Bobby who'd forgotten. Of course, I liked to imagine Eric bringing the flowers himself—laying them on Gran's grave and sparing her a thought.

Sparing me a thought, too.

Suddenly, I regretted the fact that I didn't camp out on Gran's grave on Sunday nights—that I didn't even allow myself to drop my shields to listen for a vampire (or an unpleasant human delivery boy) on those nights.

I hadn't wanted to risk Eric not coming because I was there—because I was interfering with his private moments with Gran.

No.

Eric had made clear over the years that contact with Gran was okay, but contact with me was not. And I'd respected his choice—no matter what his reasoning was. But—now—I was just worried. Now, I just prayed that he was safe.

FLASHBACK, JUNE 21, 2004

APPROXIMATELY A WEEK AFTER SOOKIE'S "REBIRTH" IN THE MERLOTTE'S WALK-IN

"What did you do?" Gran asked me almost accusingly, as soon as I'd walked in the door following my afternoon shift at Merlotte's.

"Do?" I asked, worried that I'd forgotten something—that someone had already died because of me.

"To Eric," she frowned.

It had been a week since Eric had spent the night speaking with me—listening to everything I had to say about Life 1. He'd left with a list of things based on what I could remember. I will admit that I'd hoped that he would return the next night—to see me.

To ask questions.

To—anything.

But he hadn't.

The next night, I'd hoped for the same.

But he didn't come then either.

All the nights since then, I'd spent half-awake and wishing for him. But he still didn't come.

I'd begun to realize that he wasn't going to come. But—somehow—I'd kept myself from falling apart.

After all, things could be worse. So much worse.

"I—uh—I don't know what I did to Eric," I lied.

Even though I knew very well what I'd done—and not done—to him during Life 1.

"Why is he tellin' me that you and he just aren't compatible?" she asked. "I saw you together. He liked you! You liked him! And your chemistry was undeniable!"

"He said we aren't compatible?" I asked in a whisper. A whimper.

"Right here!" she said, holding up a letter. I could recognize the handwriting from across the room.

I tried to hide the fact that my heart was breaking.

Not compatible.

"Now—he didn't say anything bad about you," Gran assured. "In fact, he said that he liked you—a lot—but that his life was too dangerous and you were too innocent." Her eyebrows furrowed. "I'm confused, Sookie. I really thought you were finally . . . ."

Her voice trailed off, but the disappointment in her thoughts didn't.

For a moment, I contemplated telling Gran that I was a lesbian. Or that wanted to become a nun. But—in the end—I opted to tell her a truth from Life 1.

"I didn't appreciate him enough," I whispered. "I didn't understand him."

She shook her head and clucked. "You two hardly know each other. I'm sure any misunderstandings aren't anything you can't fix together," she smiled gently. "After all, he sent a letter to your Gran, basically offerin' to be my pen pal. So how bad could it all be?" she smiled. "Just call him and talk to him. I'm sure you two will work things out quick enough. My eyes might be old, but even they couldn't miss that there's something really special between you and that vampire."

"Oh, Gran," I started, "I just don't know."

"Just try," she practically begged. "I want more than anything for you to be happy, honey. And I have such a good feeling about Eric and you. Just try."

I promised Gran that I would call Eric that very night after she went to bed. But I didn't. Eric had clearly made the decision to not be around me.

And I was determined to respect that choice.

FLASHBACK OVER

As I looked at the wilted lilies on Gran's grave, I wondered what would have happened if I'd followed Gran's advice all those years ago and called Eric.

But what could I have said?

I'd already told him everything he needed to know about Life 1, even making sure that he knew I was willing to use Life 2's cluviel dor for him if he ever needed it.

And I couldn't just beg him to come back to me. Plus, there was no "back" as far as he was concerned! He'd hardly known me!

Yes—I'd shared my past experiences and my blood with him. And we'd had one amazing kiss, but Life 2's Eric wasn't mine.

So, in the end, I'd decided to follow Eric's lead. I didn't contact him.

Bending down to touch the old lilies, I couldn't ignore the fact that the current day marked the seventh anniversary of my last face-to-face encounter with any Eric—or any other vampire for that matter.

Perhaps, seven was enough for Eric. Maybe it was his lucky number? Maybe there were no more flowers because Eric was finally moving on from the odd ripple I must have caused in his life.

"Seven," I whispered. "Lucky seven."

Or maybe Eric have decided to stop leaving Gran flowers because of my thievery? Maybe the daisies had never been meant for me.

As soon as I had that thought, Sam called with a "financial emergency," and—as his accountant—I couldn't ignore him. I spared a last glance toward the wilted flowers and made the decision to call Fangtasia that night—just to make sure that Eric was okay. Once I knew that he was, I'd try to figure out if my actions had inadvertently caused him to not visit Gran's grave.

If so, I would find a way to make amends.

In the meantime, I prayed that he was angry at me. That—I could take, just as long as he was safe.

THAT NIGHT

Sam's big emergency? He'd misfiled an invoice in the "paid" file when he hadn't actually paid it yet. And that had caused a delay in a liquor shipment. I am proud to say that I had the problem figured out and fixed within an hour. But then I had to rush to my office to begin my appointments for the day.

I tried to keep my thoughts about Eric from thrashing my mind to shreds, but the missing flowers continued to rattle me.

During my lunch hour, I penned a letter to him.

Dear Eric,

I want to apologize for taking some of the flowers you have offered in Gran's memory since she died. They helped me to remember her—and you. However, I will no longer be taking them. I hope that you will accept this apology and my vow to leave you in peace if you continue to honor Gran with your remembrances and visits.

Sincerely,

Sookie Stackhouse.

Without overthinking things, I placed the letter in the mail when the postman came at 1:00 P.M.

Since I had already committed to watching little Stephanie that night, I left the office a bit early to pick her up. Unfortunately, Sid-Matt wasn't doing well these days, and Dawn wanted to spend some time alone with him. He'd been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two months before, so he was tired from his chemotherapy treatments. Sid-Matt was fighting, but there was only so much fight an old body could give—even one who had a lot to live for.

Sid-Matt had lived alone during Life 1. So I could only imagine how difficult fighting cancer would have been for him in that version. Thankfully, he'd never found out. In Life 2—at least—he had a vibrant, loving wife and an amazing little girl. I hoped that he'd beat the odds and stave off the disease—at least for a while. Though in his eighties, he still seemed full of life—just as Gran had in the end.

I put Stephanie into a bath and called Fangtasia the minute it opened.

"Fangtasia—the bar with bite," Pam intoned, sounding as bored as ever. I couldn't help but to smile. Whether in Life 1 or Life 2, Pam stayed the same. Plus, I knew that she wouldn't sound so bored if anything bad had happened to Eric. Hell—she wouldn't have answered the phone at all if he was unwell!

I sighed with relief.

"Um—will the big, blond vampire be there tonight?" I asked, trying to sound like a fangirl.

Pam scoffed. "No."

"What?" I asked, suddenly worried again. "Where is he?"

I could almost hear her eyes rolling. "It's nobody's damned business what the master does with his fucking time!" she said harshly before hanging up—loudly.

I pulled my phone away from my ear quickly in reaction to the slamming. Nope—Pam didn't change, but I felt better nonetheless. Eric must have been away on business; that had to be why he hadn't visited Gran the night before.

Or he was angry at my intrusion.

Either way, my letter would inform him that his gifts to Gran would no longer be bothered.

Feeling better, I went to check on a splashing Stephanie.

TUESDAY, JUNE 14, 2:03 A.M.

Dawn came to pick up Stephanie at about 2:00 a.m., but before she collected her slumbering daughter, she spent about an hour crying on my shoulder.

Dawn's very immediate sorrow reminded me that I had no right to be feeling sorry for myself.

Apparently, Sid-Matt was having a difficult time keeping down food because of his chemotherapy. Still, the couple had celebrated earlier that night when Dawn told Sid-Matt that she was pregnant with their second child. The baby hadn't been planned and had likely been conceived about two months before Sid-Matt's diagnosis.

Dawn hadn't even suspected that she was pregnant—let alone four months pregnant!—until the morning before when she'd noticed that her breasts were sensitive. Given the stress of the previous months, she'd not questioned why her already irregular period hadn't come in a while.

She'd hidden her concerns from her husband as she'd told him about their unexpected gift from God, but—in the privacy of my living room—she let herself voice her worst fear: that Sid-Matt wouldn't live long enough to see their second child be born.

I held her close and promised to be there for her and for her children—no matter what happened with Sid-Matt. It was all I could do.

Once Dawn and Steph had left, I straightened up my old room, which I now used for the kids who stayed over at my home. There was a large crib in there (since I had to accommodate my fair share of twins) in addition to my old bed. There was also a huge toy box.

I'd made Jason's old room into my home office. And Gran's room was mine now.

At least technically.

In actuality, I didn't sleep in the room, choosing to sleep on the living room couch instead. The sound of the television soothed me and kept me distracted.

Just like the "first" time Gran had died, I'd felt "obligated" to move into her room—the master bedroom. It's what had been expected by others, so I had done it.

Just like before, I packed and donated most of Gran's things a few months after she died. I went through her jewelry for a second time, though—this time—there were various people whom I gave pieces to: Michele; Isabella, Jason and Michele's only daughter (so far); Stephanie; and Sam and Maudette's daughter, who'd been named for Gran.

I was glad that Gran's special things had gone to a lot of special people this time around. I kept only her jewelry box for myself, though my question mark pendant from Eric never saw the inside of it. With Gran gone, there was no longer a need not to wear the necklace. However, I did wear the item under my clothes so that I could—ironically enough—avoid questions.

Indeed, there really had been no true reason to move rooms. Even before I had, I was already sleeping on the couch, so—really—I'd just changed closets and bathrooms.

The bigger bed in Gran's room had never been used by me.

Life 2 me had never had a roommate. Or a boyfriend. Or a lover.

Even though I'd had them all. And I missed them all.

Part of me was tempted to call Amelia. Or even Octavia. But they didn't know me in Life 2.

A small part of me even missed Bill—though I now recognized that the Bill I knew wasn't authentic in any way that mattered.

And, of course, all of me longed for Eric.

I sat down heavily onto the couch and scrolled through my TiVo choices. I smiled at the Lifetime movies still in the queue. They'd been selected by Gran before her death. She was a sucker for them, and—as soon as I had money—I'd made sure that she had that "nifty TiVo contraption she'd seen Oprah giving away on her show."

I only wished that I could have given more to her for longer.

I didn't really like the Lifetime movies; they were too sentimental for my tastes. But I couldn't make myself erase them either.

Pushing that thought to the side, I selected an old movie—The Philadelphia Story. I'd seen it before and had enjoyed how Gran had cackled throughout the movie when I'd watched it with her. She'd had a crush on Cary Grant, which had remained undiminished when rumors emerged that he was gay. Her proclamation had been: "Well—why not? I prefer men too, and Cary had impeccable taste! That's clear enough!"

I chuckled to myself and sighed at the sight of Jimmy Stewart. He'd always been my preference—at least physically. Still—I couldn't blame Katherine Hepburn for picking Cary Grant in the end. And I certainly couldn't blame her for being confused throughout the movie. There had been a time when several men vied for my attentions at the same time, too—after all.

And I'd been as confused as hell!

Though I laughed along at the funnier moments, I let the movie lull me. And after it was done, I turned to ESPN, one of the few channels that I knew wouldn't show infomercials during the night. For some reason, those things were like "anti-sleeping pills" to me.

Though I always kept track of the big sporting events, I wasn't a sports fanatic by any means, but that was sort of the point. At night, the same Sports Center would air again and again once it was late enough, so I could become accustomed to the stories—which consisted of mostly scores and highlights from games. By the second or third showing, the show was enough to keep me from slipping into my own thoughts but not enough distraction to keep me from sleeping.

Plus, I had a special place in my heart for sports. They'd certainly won me a lot of money.

But my reasons for watching Sports Center were mostly practical.

After Gran died, I'd had a hard time sleeping.

In fact, attempting to sleep in a "quiet" room simply wasn't possible unless I was literally exhausted. Otherwise, my mind would turn on memories—memories of both Life 1 and Life 2.

Or sometimes an amalgamation of the two.

Sometimes I would weep as the horrors of Life 1 charged vividly through my mind: Gran's blood on the kitchen floor, the feeling of soft flesh being torn away from my body by the Things, Crystal's body hanging up on a cross, Lafayette dead in the back of Andy's car, the desperate thoughts of victims in the Pyramid in Rhodes.

Other times it was not horror that made me weep; it was guilt as I faced an undeniable truth about Life 1: it had been my longing to love and to be loved that had sparked unspeakable death and pain.

Yes—it had been my choice to seek love with Bill that had been the catalyst for so much sorrow. This time around, I'd avoided that outcome by never letting Bill into my life.

Would have being with Eric also led to incomprehensible violence and sorrow? What if I had married a human or Were? Was it simply impossible for me to love without causing the annihilation of everything around me?

I didn't know.

What I did know was the heavy weight of loneliness, but—at least—in Life 2, that loneliness was lessened by friendship and family and work. And that was exponentially better than before—when my loneliness was accompanied by a tsunami of blood.

No doubt, if others knew about my life, they might judge it as "sad" or me as "pathetic." But I didn't think so. I still struggled sometimes with not blaming myself for all that had gone wrong in Life 1; I figured I always would a little. I figured that was "normal." But I was getting better about not doing that either. Yes—I had nightmares, but they didn't come true. And—yes—I spent my nights alone if I wasn't babysitting. But there was a lot of love in my life, and my days were filled with work, lunches with friends, and time with the next generation, which was thriving in Bon Temps.

Ironically—or maybe on purpose, depending upon what his wish had been—Eric had given me the life I'd always wanted; the only thing missing from it was him. But that was okay.

I'd learned—in Life 2—how to be independent.

Yes—it was the life I'd always thought I would have before Bill had entered Life 1.

Ideal? Maybe not—especially since I knew how good it might have been if Eric had been free to share it with me. But Life 2 was still good.

Tina walked slowly into the room. I knew that she would die sooner rather than later—as her old body seemed to ache even more than Gran's had in the end. At eighteen years old, she needed to gather her energy before she jumped up onto the couch with me. And it took her a while to curl into my body and make herself comfortable. I stroked her soft fur, and she purred loudly.

And—it was to that sound and Sports Center—that I fell asleep.

Tina was gone when I was woken up by my phone ringing. Startled, I looked at the clock. 4:45 a.m.

A minute too late to make a wish.

I reached toward the coffee table to pick up my phone, already worrying. Only bad calls happened at 4:45 a.m.

"Hello?" I asked my voice cracking a bit in fear and tiredness.

"You still have the cluviel dor left behind by your grandmother," a slightly familiar female voice said.

I sat up sharply, suddenly wide awake. "Yes."

"Now is the time to use it," the voice said.

"The Ancient Pythoness," I said as my memory clicked to identify her.

She cackled. "Yes."

"What wish?" I asked—begged. Was Hunter in danger? Eric?

"You need to wish that the biggest threat to Eric's safety will be eliminated—right now," she said before hanging up.

My feet hit the ground, and I was running up the stairs to the attic before I had fully interpreted the Ancient Pythoness's message. I slid across the floor and ran into the wall, cursing my socks. But I didn't stop until I'd reached the old desk and opened the secret panel to take out the cluviel dor.

I fell to my knees and gripped the fairy love token between praying hands. "I wish for Eric's biggest threat to be destroyed," I said loudly, never meaning anything more and briefly wondering if I'd blow up into a million pieces—if I might be Eric's biggest threat.

No matter.

I spoke my wish again and again—even though I'd felt the magic drain from the cluviel dor at my first uttering.


	19. I Will Catch You

Chapter 19: I Will Catch You

TUESDAY, JUNE 14, 2011, 4:43 A.M. (A FEW MINUTES BEFORE THE END OF THE LAST CHAPTER)

ERIC POV

"Within a week."

That had been the only warning I'd gotten to let me know that I should prepare myself for my maker's impending death.

Two weeks before, Appius had finally traveled to the United States—but only so far as New York, where Alastair had been keeping him and Alexei company. My maker hadn't even bothered to call me to tell me that he was on the same continent as I was, but that was fine with me.

Since I had no idea of the exact time (or even the day) when Marion would rid me of my bane, I had stayed in my sleeping chamber since receiving the cryptic message three nights before. I knew that the severing of my bond with Appius would be painful for me. And I didn't want to risk being vulnerable at an inopportune time.

Though Area 5 was generally a "peaceful" place, there was the random problem every once in a while. I thought back to how I'd had to finally do away with the "disco triplets"—as Sookie had so amusingly described them—the month before. Saving them from arson had been a low priority for me, but I'd done it nonetheless, and—because of that—the three had "owed" me. And they'd actually been decently behaved for a long time. But—eventually—they had gone back to their old ways, which included keeping human pets as slaves.

Indeed, dealing with them hadn't been difficult—even though there were three of them, and I took only Clancy with me. But if I had keeled over in pain (say, from my maker's unexpected death), then the triplets might have seized the advantage.

There was no use risking my life—not for Appius!

The good news was that the pain from the bond breaking wouldn't affect my own children—beyond them feeling that I was in some distress. Pam had already been coached to ignore any discomfort she felt from me as she oversaw my duties at Fangtasia. The "official" story explaining my absence was that "it was nobody's damned business what I did with my fucking time!"

If the queen happened to question me, which—let's face it—she wasn't likely to do since I was still fulfilling my duties thanks to the Internet, I would tell her that I had grown tired of the vermin and wanted a few nights of quiet. Such a thing would be well-within the realm of possibility, given how tired I truly was of indulging fangbangers, who had grown more and more pathetic throughout the years. In fact, my current "freedom" from Fangtasia, during which I had simply completed my work and then read in peace, was enough to convince me to bring in some new "eye candy" to complete the throne duty at the club. And—if profits suffered—well—I really didn't give a damn.

Frankly.

Peace from Fangtasia was nice. But I was still cagey as I waited. Of course, I knew no specifics regarding Marion's plans to kill Appius, though I did know that Karin had recently traveled to New York. Was she involved in the plan? It wouldn't surprise me. In fact, it would please me.

I sighed and looked at the clock: 4:44 a.m.

I thought of Sookie and wished for her.

And then I sighed again.

The only appointment that I regretted not fulfilling during my self-sequestering had been my weekly trip to Adele's grave. And, to make matters worse, I'd learned upon my rising that night that Bobby had been in a car wreck on his way to fulfill the task of delivering Adele's flowers for me! And that meant that Sookie hadn't gotten her daisies either!

I growled. It didn't matter that the car wreck wasn't Bobby's fault or that his leg was broken in three places; I was still pissed off enough to have already decided to replace him!

However, any anger I felt for Bobby was ripped away from me, as an excruciating pain tore through me.

I fell to my knees and yelled out.

And then—for the first time in my long existence as a vampire—I died before the day came.

TUESDAY, JUNE 14, 2011, 8:24 P.M.

I woke up exactly at sunset with the oddest sensation.

At first the sensation was painful—though nothing like the pain I'd felt the night before.

No—it wasn't pain. It was more like discomfort—as if there was an empty space inside of my body—a space that wouldn't quite collapse in on itself. It took me a moment to understand that the sensation was actually an absence—an echo. Even though I had rarely "felt" my maker's emotions, our maker-child bond had always told me that he still lived. I had felt him in my body for a thousand years, similar to how one might feel the nose on one's face. One could touch it and know it was there, but it wasn't something that one concentrated upon feeling all the time. In fact, a nose was felt only when hurting—or missing.

Not that I missed Appius.

Still, I knew that I would notice the absence of my bond with my maker for a long time before I got used to the sensation—or was it the lack of sensation. Regardless, the feeling of it quickly evolved from discomfort to pleasantness.

Appius would be a welcome absence.

I smiled in the dark of my day chamber. I now knew what "freedom" felt like. It was startling and wonderful!

More amazing than the feeling of it, however, was knowing just what I wanted to do now that I had it.

TUESDAY, JUNE 14, 2011, 8:48 P.M.

After quickly dressing, I flew to the old farmhouse at top speed.

It took me only twenty minutes to reach it from my favorite home, but it seemed to take so much longer.

Years.

I suppose it had taken me years to get there.

But now that my list of tasks was completed, I couldn't get to her fast enough.

Despite the assurances I'd gotten from the Ancient Pythoness, I wondered if Sookie would forgive me for not taking up immediate residence in her life.

Would she even want me in her life? When vampires had been the harbingers of doom in her first existence?

I was selfish enough to find out.

Selfish enough to want to discover what that other Eric had known so well that he had been capable of wishing Sookie through time and space.

I landed silently in her yard and inhaled deeply.

No Weres. No vampires. No fairies.

The faint scent of shifter. Not Merlotte, but one of his children.

The barest hint of Britlingen—signaling that Clovache was doing her job somewhere nearby.

Other scents—human ones—were more recent. Oddly, Dawn's scent was among the most prevalent. But there was only one person currently in the home: the one I wanted to see more than any other.

Sookie opened the door immediately after I knocked and looked surprised to see me.

Relieved to see me.

Happy to see me.

Confused to see me.

"Did you get my note?" she greeted.

"Note?"

She frowned slightly. "I sent you a letter yesterday—promising not to steal any more of the flowers. Is that why you didn't bring any the other night?"

I stepped forward and pushed an errant strand of Sookie's hair behind her ear. The action seemed natural—automatic—even though it was the first time I'd ever done it.

I tried not to be jealous of the other me, who'd likely done it hundreds of times.

It was then that I noticed that I was inside the house with her.

"How?" I asked.

Sookie seemed to immediately know what I was asking about. "Gran never rescinded your invitation. And then—after I became the owner—I reissued it." She looked down and blushed a little. "Just in case."

I smiled softly and lifted up her chin.

"I'm sorry I missed bringing the flowers on Sunday. And—for the record—the daisies always were for you."

She bit her lower lip shyly. "I'd hoped that was the case. But I wasn't sure. And when the flowers weren't there yesterday morning, I worried you'd been hurt."

"I'm sorry," I frowned. "And I'm sorry that I didn't come here before now. I'm sorry it took me so damned long to finish it!"

"Finish what?" she asked, her eyes glistening. She seemed unsteady on her feet, so I lifted her up gently and carried her to the couch. Her hands gripped my neck as if they were meant to be attached to it.

We both sighed when I set her down and broke the touch. I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a well-worn piece of paper: the list I'd made.

When I handed it to her, she unfolded it carefully.

On it were only names—now mostly crossed out. All the threats to her.

"I memorized that list a long time ago, but I kept it as a reminder of what needed to be done before I returned," I said.

"Returned?"

"Returned to you," I clarified.

"Did you mean to?" she asked. "Return to me all along? I thought you didn't want to."

I tried to hear if there was anger in her tone. But there wasn't.

"I always wanted to, but I wasn't sure it could all be done," I said, gesturing toward the list in her hands. "I didn't want to make a promise to you that I couldn't keep."

"Bill?" she asked of the first crossed-out name, even as I sat down in the chair across from her.

"In South America with his maker. Banished from Louisiana. There will never be a reason for him to seek you out."

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Longshadow?"

"Dealt with years ago in such a way that even Hot Rain didn't get offended. Longshadow forfeited a lot of money and was banished from Louisiana, but he's intact. He's with his maker in Wyoming."

"Steve Newlin is in prison," Sookie said, looking at the next crossed-out name. Indeed, she likely didn't need me to tell her anything about the notorious man's fate. His trial had been all over the news once he was arrested for planning the Rhodes bombing. And—even though he failed—he was still sentenced to a long prison term. Unfortunately, he'd hanged himself before he'd served even a month of it. His church had pretty much fallen apart in the years following the first Rhodes summit.

"Sophie-Anne?" she asked.

"I'm sure you've seen her on television," I said with a smirk.

Sookie nodded.

"She turned Hadley, but commanded her not to speak about her family. She was so pissed off that Hadley had misled her regarding you."

"Good. That's good," Sookie whispered. "Good for Hunter."

"Yes. Sophie-Anne seems to have forgotten all about you. And—of course—Hadley still lives, but her command is still in place."

"I hated her for never contacting Gran," Sookie said forlornly. "Maybe I judged her too harshly.

"No," I returned quickly. "Hadley is selfish. According to my source, she was ordered not to speak about your family in Sophie-Anne's presence; she was not ordered not to contact you or Adele or Hunter on her own."

"How do you know she hasn't contacted him—Hunter?" she asked.

"Thalia is in place as Hunter's guard. And Bubba visits him," I informed. "In fact, Bubba has become friendly with Remy and Hunter—as well as the demon who visits Hunter twice a week."

"Mr. Cataliades?" she asked. I was surprised she didn't know more about the matter since I knew that she'd visited the demon lawyer years before.

"No," I said. "Gladiola."

Sookie smiled softly. "I'm really glad she made it this time around."

I nodded in agreement.

"I felt bad—for never tellin' Gran about Hadley being alive—and then undead. Or about Hunter," Sookie shared, even as a tear fell from her eye.

I found that I hated that tear.

I considered for a moment. "There are so many reasons to wonder if the things we've done during the last seven years were the right things to do."

Sookie exhaled loudly and reached out toward me. I took her hand gratefully.

"Andre?" she asked, looking back at the list in her other hand. "He's not a problem anymore either?"

"Other than being an annoying prick as always?" I chuckled. "No, he's no worry to you. Sophie-Anne is very content, and her queendom has never been stronger. Even if she learned of you, she wouldn't desire you with the same fervency as before."

Sookie smiled a little. "Felipe?"

"Madden killed him," I chuckled.

"He did?" she asked as if reacting to a television show. "Well? What happened to Victor? He's crossed off the list too."

I grinned at her curiosity. "Karin played on Victor's ambition and delusions of grandeur in order to influence him to kill de Castro in a very public way. But, contrary to what Victor thought would happen, he was not made king. He was executed by Felipe's people. Sandy Sechrest is queen now."

Sookie shook her head. "I really shouldn't be so glad that they're both finally dead this time around; after all, they didn't even affect our lives."

"But you are—glad," I smirked.

"Yes. Yes. I really am," she chuckled at herself.

"What about Freyda?" she followed-up.

"Thanks to Jade Flower, the Queen of Arkansas, she has never been an issue," I responded.

"Jade Flower? But she was a bad guy," she frowned. "She killed Gladiola."

I chuckled. "This time around, Jade's a 'good guy.'"

"How'd that happen?"

"I made sure Sophie-Anne didn't get involved in marriage talks with Peter Threadgill by stirring the pot about the conflict over the border between Louisiana and Arkansas. I also manufactured a few rumors that Threadgill might attempt a takeover."

Sookie smirked. "So Sophie-Anne didn't ever pursue him."

I shook my head. "No. Peter tried other marriage attempts, looking for a way to bolster the finances of his state. Meanwhile, Jennifer Cater wanted him to focus on building up Arkansas's infrastructure, but he spent most of his money on excessive courtship gifts. The last straw was when Threadgill offered Jade Flower's head to Elizabeth, the Queen of Michigan, as a gift—if she agreed to a marriage with him."

"What?"

"Jade has been a bodyguard or enforcer for centuries—not unlike Karin," I shared. "One of Jade's previous jobs was to kill one of Elizabeth's vampire siblings. Peter misinterpreted the situation, however. He didn't do enough homework, so he didn't know that Elizabeth's own maker, Robert, had been Jade's employer. The slain child had been uncontrollable, not unlike Alexei. Robert did what Appius should have done years ago—arranged for the child to be killed. He couldn't bring himself to do it himself, however. Elizabeth felt like she owed Jade Flower a tremendous debt for seeing to the duty humanely and ensuring that Robert suffered as little as possible. Given those facts, it is unsurprising that Elizabeth told Jade about Peter's offer. It's also unsurprising that Jade took his head."

"Geez! What a soap opera!" Sookie exclaimed.

I chuckled. "It was quite the subject of gossip for a while."

"Why didn't Jennifer Cater take over Arkansas?"

"She didn't want to be queen," I responded, impressed by Sookie's thoughtful questioning about vampire politics.

"Jennifer isn't really old enough to be an effective monarch," I added. "However, she was astute enough to recognize that fact. When she turned down the position, Jade was offered the monarchy. Jennifer has stayed on as Jade's Lieutenant and financial advisor. The state is doing better that ever before."

"How does all that relate to Freyda?" she asked.

"In your other life, Freyda wanted me to become her consort because she thought she needed someone strong so that her monarchy wouldn't be challenged. And she noticed me in Rhodes in 2005, but this time I didn't even go to Rhodes until earlier this year."

Realization dawned on Sookie's face. "And, in this timeline, Freyda merely had to look next door to see exactly what she wanted: a strong warrior who no one would want to fuck with. And a marriage to another monarch sounds much better than a marriage to a sheriff. No offense," she quickly added.

"None taken," I laughed. "In truth, without Appius in Freyda's kingdom, she probably wouldn't have considered me for a marriage partner—even though she'd noticed me in your previous reality. After all, you indicated that she'd not contacted me directly after Rhodes. Likely, once Alexei was threatened with punishment, Appius talked me up to her—like a fucking used car salesman."

Sookie frowned, but nodded. "Well—I'm glad Freyda isn't an issue. And I suppose that the reason I thought of her as a bitch was because she wanted you—and wouldn't let you out of the contract." She sighed. "She let Appius force you," she added softly, looking down at her hand in mine. "I admit that I wouldn't mind if she had died this time around too."

"Yes," I agreed. "But Freyda will not be a problem for either of us. In fact, she and Jade have formed an alliance with Sophie-Anne. They call themselves the 'Three Queens,' and the region is strong and peaceful."

"I'm glad of that," Sookie said with a nod. "What about Stan and Russell?"

"Both are fine. Stan and Sophie-Anne are actually married."

"No!" Sookie giggled. "Why wasn't it on the news?"

I chuckled. "Do you really want to know?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Well—Stan is actually quite shy around the Press. And Sophie-Anne doesn't think they photograph well together. So—the alliance hasn't been discussed with the human Press."

Sookie laughed heartily.

I smiled at the sound. "Now that Sophie-Anne is so popular and Louisiana is one of the strongest and most profitable kingdoms on the continent, she gets along better with everyone. Thus, she has a better working relationship with Russell too," I shared.

Sookie's laughter faded as she looked back down as the list. "There are several fairy names crossed out here. I need to know about them."


	20. You Will Find Me

Chapter 20: You Will Find Me

SOOKIE POV

"I'll tell you anything you want to know about the fairies," Eric said, his voice low and emotion-filled.

I took a deep breath. "Years ago, I asked Mr. Cataliades to help make sure Niall never contacted me or Hunter, but I haven't wanted to know any details. I was scared to know them," I admitted. "But—with you here—I'm not so scared to find things out."

"I'm glad," he said.

"Will you tell me about what's happened with Niall? With Claudine?"

"Of course," Eric responded softly. "The Crane triplets returned to the Fae Realm after they felt threatened in this one," he began.

"Threatened? You hurt them?" I asked curiously, but with less concern than I should have had.

"No. But I made sure they felt unsafe in Area 5. Did Claudine ever make contact with you?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. There's been no need."

Eric smiled softly. "I'm very glad of that. I've made several inquiries about your fairy relatives—through back-channels, of course. The Crane triplets returning to your great-grandfather's side when they did seemed to have turned the tide of the war between Niall and Breandan."

"How so?" I asked.

"It had been rumored that the Cranes did not wish to dwell in Faerie—that they'd broken all ties with Niall. Seeing that that wasn't true—that there were suddenly several heirs who could take over if Niall fell—his people rallied. Breandan and his main allies were decimated in one decisive battle," Eric informed.

"What of," I paused and cringed, "Neave and Lochlan?"

"Dead."

"How?"

"You probably don't want to know the details," he said with surety.

"I do. I do want to know. I need to."

He seemed hesitant, but relented nonetheless. "Sookie, I felt that I could control the vampire issues that had affected you before. And I knew I could control the Were issues. However, the Fae are unpredictable. So I did something," he added hesitantly—vaguely.

"What did you do?"

He took a deep breath that I knew he didn't need and gripped my hand just a little more firmly, as if afraid I would pull away. "You have not been left unprotected during the years."

"What? Really?" I asked. "But I never heard anyone—out there," I said motioning toward the window.

"You're not angry?" he asked, studying my face carefully, but with relief in his eyes.

"No," I shook my head. "I would have been—in Life 1. I would have called you highhanded, but I know better now. But I do want to know how someone has been close to me without my hearing him or her," I frowned. I didn't like the idea of missing such a thing for so long. It meant that I could have missed other things too.

"Actually, my employee has focused her attention upon watching the fairy portal in the woods near your home. So she's rarely been that close to you. Plus, she can shield her thoughts."

"What is the guard?" I asked, though I knew it was an impolite question. "A fairy?"

"No," he responded. "Like I said, I don't trust them. And a vampire or demon wouldn't work either. You told me that you could pick up the 'voids' of vampires and the 'fuzzy' minds of demons when they were close enough," he continued. "And I didn't want you to feel bothered. So I hired a Britlingen to watch over the portal, as well as you and Adele. You'd mentioned that you had difficulty picking up much from them."

"But they're so expensive," I gasped.

"Money is no object—when it comes to this," he said fervently, squeezing my hand. "And I was able to hire a Britlingen you'd known before—just in case contact ever needed to be made."

"Batanya? Clovache?" I asked.

"The latter," he responded. "Would you like to know what she did to Neave and Lochlan when she discovered them coming through the portal?"

I took several shallow breaths before getting ahold of my initial reaction of ice cold fear. To think—they'd been so close to me again!

"Yes. I do want to know," I responded, trying to keep my voice steady and strong.

"They arrived during the daytime. Having iron chains handy, Clovache was able to secure them. And then she brought them to me," he recalled, his eyes boring into mine in warning.

"What did you do to them?" she asked.

"More than they did to you. And For longer," he emphasized, letting me see the violent part of his nature. But all I could see was the protective part.

I closed my eyes tightly, wishing for a moment that I'd known all along that Eric was protecting me and Gran. But would have that knowledge truly helped? Would it have brought Eric back to me any sooner? Or could knowing have just given me false hope if he'd never been able to complete his list?

I shook my head.

Eric had made the best decisions he could—just as I'd made mine. I wasn't about to blame him for them.

Or second guess him.

Not when his actions demonstrated to me that he'd made his choices with me in mind.

I opened my eyes so that I could take him in. So beautiful, so patient. He was waiting for me to come to terms with his nature one way or the other. What he didn't know was that I'd done that a long time before.

I said the only thing I could.

"Thank you, Eric. For Clovache. For killing those monsters."

"Better late than never," he observed bleakly, obviously recalling that "he'd" not been able to protect me from Neave and Lochlan in Life 1.

ERIC POV

"You've never been too late," she said sincerely.

I wondered for a moment if she was speaking to me. Or to the other Eric. Or to both of us.

"Seven years, Sookie," I whispered. "It's a long time."  
"Not compared to two hundred," she said fervently.

"That was the other Eric," I said.

She chuckled and shook her head. "There's only one Eric."

"How do you know I'm anything like him?" I asked.

"This," she said, looking at the list.

We were quiet for a moment.

"What about Breandan's children, Denolt and Serbol? Are they gone too?" she asked, her voice shaking a little.

"I made sure that Niall knew about them—through those back-channels I mentioned," I responded. "I have received confirmation that they were both killed during the war. Breandan's line is gone."

"Good," she whispered. "But—even if all of Niall's enemies are gone—I'm glad he has never contacted me." She shook her head. "Knowing him, there will be other enemies in the future."

I spoke carefully, not wanting to upset Sookie further. "Given what I know about Niall and what you told me before, your great-grandfather did care for you. Fairies just aren't good at behaving unselfishly."

She sighed. "I've thought a lot about Life 1. Maybe too much. But I wanted to make sure I learned from it. Looking back, I wonder why Niall was so quick to give me to de Castro after my family was all killed. I wonder if there was anything in it for him. I guess I'll never know though."

"No—you won't," I said assuredly.

She gave me a wry smile. "Still, I can speculate. The life Niall was thrusting me toward would have made me miserable." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Maybe Felipe gave him money or promised him a kid if I ever had one."

"Maybe. Or he could have simply been short-sighted where you were concerned," I returned.

She took a deep breath. "Yeah. Maybe he didn't see that there could have been other options for my protector—like Russell or another monarch who wouldn't have required that I have a physical relationship with him or her. But—then again—I was in Felipe's territory, and to give me to another monarch would have been dangerous for Niall."

"Would it have been—dangerous for Niall?" I asked somewhat bitterly. "Only if he intended to return to this realm despite vowing time and again not to," I answered my own question.

Sookie chuckled ruefully. "Well—there is that. But—in Niall's defense—I didn't think to offer alternatives on that horrible day. I just wanted to die," she finished in a whisper.

I squeezed her hand tighter, though I made sure not to harm her.

"I'm so glad you didn't—die," I said, meaning my words with everything that I was.

"Me too," she responded, her eyes alit with something unfathomable—something I wanted to learn how to understand.

"This time around, Niall didn't seem to be motivated to undertake a real relationship with you, and—though I know you value family—I think that's a very good thing," I said to her.

"Me too," she agreed sadly.

"Perhaps, having his grandchildren back in his realm has given him the family connections he had craved from you before. Or—perhaps—the fact that you've never needed Claudine to come and rescue you has kept you off his radar. Though I'm sorry if his absence hurts you," I added sincerely.

"A lot has hurt more," she said in haunted tone.

Sookie took several deep breaths and then looked down at the list still gripped in the hand I wasn't holding. "The only names not crossed off are Appius and Alexei," she whispered.

"Since they are who kept me away from you for so long, I wanted you to be the one to do it—if you wanted," I answered softly. "They were ultimately the reason why I had to leave you in the other timeline as well. I like to think that I would have protected you and those you loved if I had still been your mate in that other life."

She smiled sadly. "It's a nice thought, but I don't know. I broke our bond. Likely, I would have kept right on being stubborn—kept right on pushing you away. Even without the Freyda thing," she added remorsefully.

I shrugged. "But I would have had more than a year to work on your resolve between the breaking of the bond and Niall's other enemies appearing. So—who knows? I can be very charming," I smirked.

"Yes. Yes you can," she whispered, squeezing my hand.

"Either way, Appius and his troublesome child are gone." I sighed, the sound feeling odd, but somehow appropriate, as it rattled through my dead lungs.

Sookie and I looked at each other silently for a moment.

"Tell me what happened to him—to them both?" she asked finally.

"I know I must have told you something about Appius in your previous life," I said after another silent moment.

"A little," she responded.

"Will you tell me what I said? Before I tell you what I know about their fate in this life?"

She nodded. "You once told me that Appius taught you all you knew about being a vampire. But he seemed cold-hearted when you described him to me."

"How so?" I asked, curious about what I'd told her.

"You said that his first lesson to you was to not call him Appius, but you didn't tell me what you had to call him," she frowned.

"Master. I called him that," I responded. "For many, many years."

She sighed and looked down at the list of names. "You implied that your second lesson from him was sexual."

"Yes," I confirmed.

"You didn't call it rape, but I got the impression that he forced you," she said carefully. "For a while."

"He did," I responded truthfully. "But denying one's maker anything is almost impossible," I commented. "Appius could be cruel if he experienced anything that made him feel weak. But he wasn't always a horrible companion. He did teach me a lot. But, occasionally, when his lessons were about reestablishing his dominance, I suffered greatly."

"I got that impression—when he came to visit," Sookie said. "You seemed," she paused, "anxious when he was around."

"I'm sure I was," I observed, though it felt odd to speak about something I hadn't actually experienced. "I would have seen that he had a failing child in tow. And Appius wouldn't have liked that Alexei made him seem weak. Moreover—if he found me happy when he was not?" I paused for a moment. "He would have hated that," I sighed. "Was I? Happy then? Were we happy then?"

"Before Appius came?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

Sookie contemplated for a moment. "Yes. You seemed to be happy. And I was happy. That was after the Fairy War, so we were both shaken up for a while. But—eventually—you told me why you hadn't been able to be the one to rescue me from Lochlan and Neave, and I understood."

"Why didn't I come to you?" I asked. "You didn't tell me. I have tried and tried to think of any plausible reason why I wouldn't have come to you. But I cannot," I said truthfully.

"You couldn't. Victor chained you with silver," Sookie responded. "Pam was detained too, but she convinced the vamps holding her to let her call Felipe—since he'd granted me protection and all. Victor tried to tell Felipe that he was holding you so that an all-out vampire-fairy war wouldn't break out over a mere mostly human." She rolled her eyes. "But Felipe ordered him to let you go. By that time, though, I was already at Ludwig's hospital. You gave me your blood there."

"No matter the reason, I am sorry I didn't come sooner," I apologized sincerely.

"I know," she whispered and then took a long breath. "To answer your question better—yes—I really think that we were both happy before Appius came. After a lot of starts and stops, we were finally in a real relationship." She chuckled. "We'd even given each other drawers."

"Drawers?" I asked.

"Yeah—you cleared out a drawer for me in your dresser. You emptied it so that I could leave things at your house if I wanted. I did the same for you."

I sat forward a little. "Did I leave things? At your home?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Jeans. T-shirts. Socks." She rolled her eyes. "A pair of red undies that was sort of an inside joke between us."

I chuckled. "The bikini ones?"

She nodded. "How did you come to get those? You usually wore boxer-briefs. Or nothing," she said with a blush.

That blush warmed me—excited me.

"Pam. A bet I lost."

Sookie laughed. "You were wearing them when you lost your memory because of Hallow. Whatever happened to her—by the way?" she asked,

"Dead—before she could cause trouble," I responded, still wondering if there would come a moment when Sookie would balk at the violence I was capable of.

But she didn't. "Well—serves her right. I still can't believe that she had the audacity to ask for both you and a lot of Fangtasia's profits," she shook her head. "I bet that all the V she took made her a little nuts."

"I didn't spend enough time to find out," I relayed truthfully. "So—back to the previous topic. Did you leave things—at my home—in your drawer?"

She sighed and shook her head sadly. "A few things. Not enough. But I was thinking about more. Appius's arrival sort of put a damper into things between us."

"It would," I stated flatly. "But I was happy and you were happy? Before that?"

She smiled softly. "Looking back to Life 1—I think that time was when I was happiest. I was beginning to accept our bond. I was beginning to believe that you truly loved me. We were spending a lot of time together, and when we couldn't, you called me or I called you. We were in a real relationship—one that I thought was going to last." She frowned. "But, when Appius came, a part of you shut me out again."

"I would have been worried that he'd use you against me," I frowned.

"I know that—now," she conveyed quickly. "But—at the time—I wanted you to turn to me for support if there was trouble. You kept saying I was your wife, but your actions didn't always uphold that claim."

"I am sorry that I didn't turn to you. But I truly would have feared allowing Appius to know just how much you meant to me."

She leaned forward. "Tell me about him? About Appius? What happened to him? Was it last night?"

"Yes. How do you know?" I asked.

"Tell me?" she asked again. "Please."

I frowned, but nodded. "On the first night of my vampire life, my maker gave me my first commands. He never lifted them."

"What commands?" she asked.

"That I never try to kill him. That I never ask others to kill him. That I never collude with others against him," I responded.

"But you wanted to kill him?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I answered honestly. "When I was a very young vampire, I hated him with everything that I was. And there were a few other times too. But—mostly—I just wanted . . . ." I stopped, not knowing how to finish my sentence.

"To be free," she whispered.

I stared at her for a while, wondering how someone could know me so well.

"Yes," I confirmed. "I did want to be free. And now I am."

"But you couldn't do it yourself," she commented.

"No. Though I determined not long after we met that Appius needed to die, I had no way of making that happen. I couldn't kill him myself, nor could I set plans into motion for his demise—not even by indirect suggestion. All I was able to do was to manipulate the situation so that Appius and Alexei would be able to stay in Europe longer than they'd been able to in your previous life."

Sookie gestured for me to continue when I was quiet for a moment.

"It was during the most recent summit in Rhodes that I was called to an audience with the Ancient Pythoness."

Sookie's eyes widened. "Her?"

"Yes. She suggested that she'd been most amused by the disjunction between the future she'd thought she would be witnessing and the one that was actually coming to pass," I shared.

"Shit!" Sookie muttered.

I chuckled. "Shit indeed. She also told me that an old friend would be seeing to the Appius matter as soon as it could be arranged. Apparently, it took several months for those arrangements to be made, but last night, I felt him die. I know that my friend and Karin were involved, but I know nothing else—except the time of his demise."

"Around 4:45 a.m.?" she asked biting her lower lip.

"Yes. How could you know that?"

She dropped the list on her lap—though she didn't drop my hand—and she reached over to the end-table to pull a small green object from it.

She put it into my free hand.

"What's this?" I asked her.

"A cluviel dor," she whispered. "Early this morning—at a quarter to five—I got a phone call—from the Ancient Pythoness—telling me that I needed to make a wish."

I gripped the item tightly. "What wish?" I asked.

"That your greatest enemy would be eliminated," she said.

I brought the object to my nose, smelling for residual magic, but there was none. And then I kissed the now-useless fairy charm.

"Your wish worked. I felt Appius die right around that time. I'm sure that Alexei was dealt with as well, but I will confirm that—before resting in the morning."

She nodded, but frowned. "Appius's death seemed to hurt you before. Did it this time?"

"Yes," I responded. "Badly. But—I was glad too."

"It's like before then," Sookie shared. "You seemed to be in pain, but you were also relieved. I didn't know what to make of it."

I glanced at the empty fireplace. "My relationship with Appius was difficult for me to understand, and I've been trying for a thousand years," I shared. "But I woke up tonight feeling happy—hopeful."

"Hopeful about what?" Sookie asked.

I stood up—breaking the connection of our hands for the first time in a long time. I handed her the spent cluviel dor before taking a pen from my pocket and handing her that as well.

"Cross them off?" I asked.

She nodded, and moments later, "Appius" and "Alexei" had been distorted by black ink.

Once she was done, I took the list from her and ripped it in two; then I put it into the fireplace before kneeling down and using the lighter I carried to burn the paper.

"Hopeful about what?" Sookie asked again. She had gotten up and was standing beside me.

"Hopeful about the future," I emphasized as I stood up and took her hand again. I'd missed having it in my grasp.

Sookie gripped my hand tightly as we both watched the burning paper.

"The future used to scare me so much," she shared, "until I realized I'd run out of the past."

I turned to look at her once I was satisfied that the paper that had listed our known threats was gone—ash.

"It's odd—outliving my previous self," she continued, even as she continued to follow the embers with her startling blue eyes. "It's odd seeing most of the people I mourned still thriving."

"Do you thrive, Sookie?" I asked.

"In some ways," she answered thoughtfully as she finally looked up at me. "I have a great relationship with my brother and his family; I didn't have that before. And I have a lot of close friends; I didn't have that before either. I get to babysit my niece and nephews—and all my honorary nieces and nephews—quite a bit; none of them existed in Life 1." She sighed. "I got my education and I started a business; that didn't happen in Life 1. I was able to ensure that Gran was comfortable and content for the last years of her life. She died in peace, and that definitely didn't happen before." She nodded with satisfaction.

"That is all very well," I said. "But do you thrive?" I pushed.

"No," she responded in a quiet voice. "I'm grateful for all the changes that have happened—for the lives that weren't lost because of me. But no. I don't thrive. I exist. Day to day. Night to night."

I took her other hand, now holding both of hers in mine. "I have not thrived for many, many years. But I think I could—with you." I shook my head. "I know that in your previous existence, being around vampires was toxic for you. So I am here to offer you a choice."

"Choice?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"You know me," I said certain of that fact. "And you know that I am prideful. However, as I dealt with every potential threat to you and me—except for Appius, whom I couldn't deal with myself—I felt as if you were the one protecting me. Last night, my maker was killed, and I know now that your protective hand was involved in that too. I have wanted to come to you every night since I last saw you. I want to know you as you knew me. As you know me. I'm not your Eric. But I am him, too—as you said. Still, I don't want to be him; I want to be even more than him. But it's been such a long time."

"I know," she whispered. "But you couldn't come before because all the names needed to be crossed off of that list first," she said gesturing toward the ashes left behind by the paper.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"And now?" she asked.

"Now is up to you, Sookie Stackhouse," I whispered. "Now is in your power."

She took a sharp breath. "Does anyone know I'm a telepath?" she asked pragmatically.

"No one that I've told—not even Pam," I promised.

"Thank you," she said.

"You are welcome," I returned.

"In public, you should just call me 'Lover,'" she said, inching toward me.

"Lover?" I whispered the question.

She nodded. "Yes. I grew to love that nickname. Plus, no vampires will ever care if your companion has a name—right? And Sookie is too unique. Pam and others can call me 'Sue' or something."

"Sue?" I asked, trying to process what she was saying.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"Sue," I said again.

"Yeah," she repeated. "Why not? Or pick another name."

"Sookie?" I asked, needing clarification.

"Eric, if 'now' is up to me, I want to be yours—or at least try it when both of our pairs of eyes are wide open. I have thought in terms of Life 1 and Life 2 for so long—but, now, I'm ready for life. I'll help you with my telepathy on the down-low because I want to; however, I don't want to be known as a telepath to the Supe world."

"You won't be known to others," I vowed.

She smiled. "Then it'll be just you and me, Eric—without the drama. I want to see what that's like. I'll pretend to be your pet—whatever," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand before suddenly looking uncertain. "Um—but—if that's not what you want, I'll live with it," she finished.

I didn't need any time to think. "To everyone in my retinue, you will be Sue. But you will never be known as my pet. How about my companion? Yes. That label pleases me."

Her eyebrow rose. "You should hold off on making that proclamation until you're sure we can get along."

I leaned forward. "I am sure, Sookie Stackhouse. I have been sure for more than seven years."

And then she leaned forward until our lips met.

Kissing Sookie for the first time had been amazing. Kissing her after seven years of wanting her was like a revelation. Her mouth was warm and supple, her lips fitting against mine perfectly—her passion matching mine flawlessly.

As I pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, I had but one thought: "This is good. This is right," I whispered.

Seeking oxygen, Sookie finally pulled back a little and looked up at me—into me—her own eyes dark and mysterious like the midnight sky.

She smiled at me, and I recognized that I was already "hers." But it didn't feel like I was trapped. I felt as if I was breeching a new realm of freedom—one I'd never imagined before I'd known her.

"This is only the beginning," she whispered—before kissing me again.

It was a very fucking good beginning!

The End.  
I hope you will check out the short follow-up/companion piece to this story--called "A Heady Draught."


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